


a certain kind of monster

by tiniestawoo



Series: monster 'verse [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bad Friend Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), F/M, Gen, Its NOT depicted only mentioned, M/M, Morally Ambiguous Stiles Stilinski, Multi, Oh, Open Ending, Pack Dynamics, Stiles saves a kid from a pretty brutal rape, Territory Disputes, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski, but be aware, dark!stiles, idk what this is im so sorry, implied Derek/Stiles and Jackson/Stiles Polyamory V, implied polyamory, mentions of child rape, ooc Scott McCall, unnecessary amounts of court like procedures over werewolf territory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:27:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23428468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiniestawoo/pseuds/tiniestawoo
Summary: “Do you really need me to repeat it?” Stiles asked, voice dangerous, eyes flashing red in the low light. “Scott can get on my ass for morals all he wants, at the end of the day, all of the fuckers in that house deserved to die.”“What happened to them, Stiles?”“I tore their throats out, and then stabbed them in the heart with my claws, Chris.”“Not the—” Chris tips his head back against the headrest, “Not the wolves, Stilinski. The teenager, the victim.”--Following the violent, unnecessary death of his father, Stiles leaves the Pack, and Beacon Hills for good, giving in the bloodlust left behind by the nogitsune. After a run in with an alpha werewolf, he finds he has the strength to channel it into becoming a supernatural vigilante. And then he has to kill an alpha and things get...messy.
Relationships: Chris Argent & Stiles Stilinski, Chris Argent/Peter Hale, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Lydia Martin/Jordan Parrish, Scott McCall/Kira Yukimura, Stiles Stilinski/Jackson Whittemore
Series: monster 'verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1693720
Comments: 42
Kudos: 946
Collections: Teen wolf, TeenWolf





	a certain kind of monster

**Author's Note:**

> Author's note update, 7/14/20:
> 
> When I wrote this fic originally, I was in a place in the fandom where I was Upset With Scott McCall for.... largely invalid reasons. My opinions have changed a ton since then. I do, however, like the story I've crafted here, so I'm leaving this fic up. I removed the 'bad alpha Scott McCall' tag because as we learn in the second part (written as my sort of... apology to Scott) there's a _reason_ he's acting this way. 
> 
> I like this fic. I like 90% of the characterizations in this fic. I wish I had done a better job at writing Scott in **a certain kind of monster** , and hope I did him justice in **the monster you know**.  
> \--  
> HO BOY HERE WE ARE.
> 
> Listen, I fucking hate this fic at this point. it's been in my goddamn head for WEEKS and this is the second iteration of it because I didn't like how open-ended the first version of it was, and also I wanted to remove the idea of predestined mates because apparently 
> 
> im in capable of writing a monogamous Stiles Stilinski, okay? He just... he loves so much. He has so much love to give and It is apparently very difficult to wrap my head around the fact that he may only give that love to one person. 
> 
> ANYWAY. 
> 
> Warnings; MENTIONS OF RAPE AND ASSAULT OF A CHILD. It's NOT ever described, but it's brutal, and Stiles kills them all and actually takes the memories from the victim, so it gets wrapped up as well as that sort of thing can, but I needed something that was going to spur Stiles' heart to start working again, and apparently that's what it was. 
> 
> also; Violence, Death, Scott being a twatwaffle, Pseudo-paternal relationship between Chris and Stiles
> 
> Enjoy?

Stiles’ ears are still ringing when he hears the rumble of an additional vehicle up the road. There are red and blue lights flashing around him, he’s handcuffed – useless as they might be – and standing next to a police cruiser, resting his forehead against the cool metal. The vehicle only has one person in it, one heartbeat, and Stiles is momentarily stunned because three hours ago he would never have known that. Three hours ago, when he was just a lowly beta wolf, he’d never have been able to weave through the fifteen heartbeats all around him to pick out a single heartbeat.

But he was an alpha now.

Boots crunched on the ground, kicking up leaves and rocks and twigs. The smell that permeates the already overwhelming scent of blood and gunpowder is less unpleasant than Stiles had been expecting. There’s cool metal, some kind of musky cologne, and faintly, oh so faintly, the smell of wolfsbane. It’s that scent that finally forces him to drag his head off the cruiser and turn around to face whoever is coming.

There were more than a few names on the list of hunters that Stiles had a) killed an accomplice of, b) pissed off by running his mouth, or c) permanently injured and therefore earned himself a grudge from. The man that studied Stiles’ bloody but perfectly intact face was none of them. Stiles raised both of his eyebrows and pressed his lips together in a thin line, “Argent. I thought you were in France.”

Christopher’s face looked grim, blue eyes narrowed, beard peppered through with grey, arms crossed over his chest. He didn’t say anything to Stiles, just shook his head, turning to the cop next to him, “Thanks for calling me. If you’re not going to charge him, I’ll take him with me.”

The cop nodded, “On paper, he was never here. Animal attack, some mountain lion got into the house and killed the occupants, a real tragedy this one.” The cop looked at Stiles warily, “I’m gonna take your cuffs off, don’t uh…”

“Bite you?” Stiles offered, giving a toothy grin that caused Chris to snort. “Wouldn’t dream of it with an Argent standing over me, man. Plus, I have too much respect for the law. Honestly, that’s the only reason I’m still standing here, because let me tell you, metal cuffs like this? Not going to hold uh…” Stiles glanced around, “Someone like me.”

The cop didn’t look any more comfortable, but unlocked the cuffs anyway and then hurried away from Chris and Stiles.

Chris took a deep breath, “You gonna come quietly, or do I have to sedate you?”

Stiles blinked a few times, “You have something that can sedate an Alpha?”

Chris’ eyes widened imperceptibly, but he recovered quickly, “For the love of Christ, Stiles.” Chris grabbed him – bravely in the eyes of any of the others – by the shoulder and hauled the young man towards the SUV he’d arrived in, opening the passenger door and motioning for Stiles to hop in. Chris closed the door behind him and climbed into the drivers’ side, turning the SUV away and pulling away from the scene. When they were a mile or so down the road, Chris gripped the steering wheel tighter and asked, “How?”

Stiles, looking out the window with a bored expression on his face, “You want the answer Scott’s gonna like, or the real one?”

“Did you kill your alpha, Stiles? I think at this point, the least you can do is tell me the truth.”

“I killed him.” Stiles said, still not looking towards the hunter. “He deserved it.”

Chris drew in a long breath, remembering what the deputies had said. “The whole pack deserved it?”

“Yeah, apparently I packed up with monsters, who knew.” Stiles rolled his eyes, “I left for a few days to get some space, to settle before the full moon. I came back and they were raping a fifteen-year-old, Chris.”

Chris nearly drove off the road, slamming the breaks and drawing the SUV to a stop, forcing the vehicle into park and turning to Sties, “What?”

“Do you really need me to repeat it?” Stiles asked, voice dangerous, eyes flashing red in the low light. “Scott can get on my ass for morals all he wants, at the end of the day, all of the fuckers in that house deserved to die.”

“What happened to them, Stiles?”

“I tore their throats out, and then stabbed them in the heart with my claws, Chris.”

“Not the—” Chris tips his head back against the headrest, “Not the wolves, Stilinski. The teenager, the victim.”

Stiles fiddles with the strings of the hoody he’s wearing, “Do you remember that I used to be able to do magic? Before the incident?” Chris nodded, “I guess if I really want to, I still can. I saw him lying there, and you know what I saw, Chris? I saw Derek, used and thrown aside by your fucking sister to watch his family burn. So, I killed the pack, and then I healed him.” Stiles flicked out the claws of his right hand, staring down at them, “And then, since I was suddenly an alpha, I took the memories from him, and took him home. He might still have nightmares, ghosts of what happened, but physically he’s fine, and the memories of the time since he was taken are gone.” Stiles looked away from his claws to look up at Chris, “I’m not a monster, Chris, not that kind, at least.”

Chris stared at Stiles, wondering briefly where the once-bright, once-warm, once-talkative young man he’d met so many years ago had gone. The werewolf he looked at now – the alpha, nonetheless – looked like him, had the same brown eyes and pale, freckled skin, but so much had been sacrificed in the name of survival. “You did the right thing, Stiles.” Chris said softly, “Your dad would be proud.”

“Don’t.” Stiles whispered, “Don’t try and tell me my dad would be proud after I killed five people, Chris. Don’t tell me my dad would be proud of his werewolf son. I did one good thing, I helped one person.” Stiles looked back out the window, “It doesn’t fix all the things I did wrong.” Stiles leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and running his hands into his hair, “And it doesn’t fix the fact that I’m a packless alpha the night before the full moon.”

“You could call Jackson.”

Stiles scoffed, “No, I’m not calling Jackson, Chris. He’s got a life he enjoys, I’m not going to call him and make him leave it all because I upgraded my werewolf status. He does enough for me.”

“He cares about you, he’d come if you called.” Chris said softly.

“I’m not calling him, fucking drop it.” Stiles snapped, clenching hi fists.

Chris sighed, “What do you want me to do, then, Stiles?”

“I don’t know, Chris.” Stiles breathed. He stared out the window, swallowing hard, “Take me somewhere secure and lock me in with mountain ash. This wolf is more opinionated than my beta was. I don’t think he’ll let me actually hurt myself.”

Chris stared at Stiles, nodding. He would do what Stiles asked, take him somewhere safe, tuck him away and lock him in a cage he knew Stiles could free himself from if he was motivated, and then he’d place some phone calls, because he was not dealing with a brand-new goddamn alpha by himself. He was too old for this shit.  
\--  
Stiles never wanted to be a werewolf. He’d been asked at 16 by Peter Hale, and he’d said no. He’d confronted an entire pack of alpha’s and never been turned. He’d survived the dread doctors, and Theo Raeken, and had gotten out of the Wild Hunt, for fucks sake, all as a painfully fragile human. He’d gotten out of their small, nowhere town, gotten away from the supernatural bullshit, had been actually doing well for once in his life.

And then it had all come to a painful, screeching halt with a single phone call.

And he’d bought the next ticket from D.C. to Sacramento, draining his savings account to do it and rent a car.

He’d raced from Sacramento to Beacon Hills.

And he had been too late.

Scott, of all people, was in the empty hospital room when Stiles arrived, looking up with a tear-streaked face to settle chocolate brown eyes onto Stiles’ murderous expression. “I’m so sorry, Stiles.”

“How could you let this happen?! You’re the TRUE ALPHA of Beacon Hills, Scott. You’re the supreme fucking ruler of this territory. You and your precious pack are supposed to protect the people who live here! ALL of them!”

Scott had only looked away, ashamed, “The wards fell a few days before the omega entered the territory. We’ve had a lot going on, we didn’t even have a chance to go repair them. And then Isaac called and said there was the scent of an unfamiliar wolf in the territory. Everyone was out looking, Stiles –”

Stiles held up a shaking hand to cut Scott off, “Are you telling me that my dad was out looking for this roaming omega FOR YOU. Without anyone else to back him up?” The hand moved to cover Stiles’ mouth as tears crashed out of his eyes, “This is your fault. You and Deaton. If you knew the wards were down you should have fixed them, immediately. You should have known the second an omega crossed into your territory, before they could get anywhere near town. And you should never have involved my dad.” Stiles closed his eyes, licking his lips before asking, “What happened to the omega who killed my father?”

Scott swallowed harshly, “I don’t know.”

Stiles’ eyes snapped open, “What do you mean you don’t know?”

Scott drew in a long, shaky breath, “We were more concerned with getting Noah to a hospital, Stiles, we lost track of the omega. We’ve been searching for days, but there haven’t been any more attacks.”

“Scott, did you offer my dad the bite?” Stiles asked, voice dangerously quiet.

Scott looked down, “It wouldn’t have taken, Stiles. He was so weak.”

Stiles seethed at the answer, hands shaking with the effort to contain magic that threatened to spill out, to tear Scott apart, “So, you didn’t even try to save him.”

Scott threw out his arms, “We got him to the hospital, Stiles. We tried! We tried to save him.”

Stiles nodded, “You didn’t try hard enough, Scott. Do yourself a favor.” He turned on his heel and headed out of the hospital room, “Don’t follow me.”

Stiles stopped only briefly to talk to Melissa, who agreed to show Stiles his father’s body later that evening, when the hospital was less busy. She hugged him, gave him a genuine apology, and patted his cheek lovingly. He gave her a heartbroken half-smile and headed out of the hospital. He froze a few parking spots down from where his rental car was parked, rolling his eyes. “Get out of my way.”

Derek Hale, perfectly coiffed, beard trimmed to a light dusting of stubble, arms crossed over his chest and scowl in place shook his head slowly, “Not until I’m sure you’re not going to do something stupid.”

Stiles deadpanned, “I’m pretty sure everything I do falls under stupid in your playbook, Derek. Pretty sure it has for a long time now. Now, get out of my way, don’t you have an omega to be hunting down?”

Derek didn’t move, “So, you’re not going after the omega yourself then?”

Stiles chuckled, quiet and dark, “Whatever would poor, pitiful, human Stiles be able to do against an omega werewolf? I’m just the token pack human, good for making plans and staying behind when the fight gets tough.”

“That hasn’t been true for a long time, Stiles.” Derek said softly. “We were trying to protect you. It’s not because you weren’t valuable, it was because of how valuable you were.”

Stiles shrugged, “I guess my dad just wasn’t valuable then, huh?”

Derek’s eyes darkened with hurt, “Stiles, none of us wanted this to happen. You know how much we all love your dad.”

“Loved.” Stiles spat. “You loved him enough to get him killed. So thanks for that. I guess that makes you and me and Isaac, and hell, even Peter have our own club, doesn’t it? The Orphans club? Cora can join too.” Stiles shook his head, “Get out of my way, Derek.” His eyes narrowed and he brought up a hand lazily, “Please don’t make me do this the hard way.”

Derek dutifully ignored the taunts, refusing to rise to Stiles’ challenge, “Let me come with you. I won’t get in your way. We just need to make sure you’re safe, Stiles. We can’t lose anyone else.”

“I’m done.” Stiles said with a grimace, “I’m done with this pack. As soon as my dad stopped breathing, you lost me. I let you bench me. I let you convince me to go to the other side of the country for school because I’d be safer there. I trusted you all to keep my dad safe, and I’m not even gone for a year and he’s dead, Derek.” Stiles held his hand so his palm faced the sky, and a tiny flame flickered to life in his hand, “I’m only going to say this one more time; get out of my way.”

Derek stared at the flame in Stiles hand, eyes full of pain and regret and other emotions that Stiles didn’t bother to interpret, “Stiles, I’m sorry. Please know that none of us wanted this to happen.” He stepped away from Stiles’ rental car.

“Yeah, well, you better than anyone know how much good it does to not want something to happen.” Stiles extinguished the flame and climbed into the car, pulling away from the hospital as quickly as he could.

The pack had apparently been searching for the omega for almost a week, between the time that Isaac had caught it’s scent and when it killed Noah Stilinski. It took Stiles three hours, a magical tracking spell, and his father’s service pistol loaded with wolfsbane bullets to find the dirty, emaciated man, kill him, tie him to a tree and light him on fire before the wolfsbane had completed its job.

The fire, of course, had alerted the pack, so Stiles drove away, leaving the omega there, tied to a tree on the edge of the clearing that housed the Nemeton, burning to death. He returned to the hospital, made arrangements with Melissa for his dad’s funeral and burial, said his goodbyes, and left Beacon Hills before midnight on the day he’d arrived.

Except of course that the omega hadn’t actually been an omega. They’d been a messenger doing a really shitty job of peacefully delivering messages. So, the pack they’d been from came looking for Stiles. And Stiles very nearly talked his way out of it, or so he’d thought, by invoking his right to a blood price for his father and implying that his death would incur the wrath of his pack alpha. The only problem with the whole scenario was that technically, Stiles didn’t have an alpha. Or a pack. Or any right, as a non-pack-affiliated human mage, to invoke a blood price. And wolves can hear lies.

So, unfortunately, the pack had decided to attack him, and he’d had no choice but to defend himself. He really hadn’t intended to kill anyone else, but it became a recurring thing, once he started killing, he lacked the ability to make himself stop. Before his father had died, the threat of Noah having to one day arrest his own son for murder had stopped a lot of the urges Stiles had in the aftermath of the nogitsune’s departure. But Noah was dead, Stiles didn’t have a pack to disappoint, or disrespect.

Then, Stiles got bitten by the alpha in the middle of the fight, and everything stopped. The Alpha had missed, aiming for Stiles’ throat and landing instead on his shoulder. The throat blow would have killed him, the shoulder instead, would turn him. So, Stiles stopped fighting, just defending himself as long as he could, as long as he still had a grasp on his magic, until the turn took, and then he just blinked a few times at the alpha, smirked, and tilted his neck up in submission.

Stiles had stayed with that pack – much to their dismay—for a few months, while he learned to control himself and adjusted to being an entirely different species of creature. When he was sure he wouldn’t immediately lose his mind by going packless, he left, and wandered the country from pack to pack for the better part of the last four years, joining, staying to listen and learn, and then leaving. A part of him, some tiny, quiet part of him, kept waiting to hear from Scott or any of the McCall Pack wolves. Kept waiting for an invitation to come home. One never came.

Stiles left bodies in his wake, with such a reputation that many packs started to turn him away at their door. He never killed anyone who didn’t deserve to die, anyone who hadn’t earned every ounce of his anger and bloodlust, but his eyes were blue either way, courtesy of the Nogitsune who had used his body to kill a number of innocents. Somewhere between his father’s death, the fact that the McCall Pack never tried to reach him, and forming and severing pack bonds like they were nothing, Stiles forced the part of him that actively felt emotions down, away, out of existence. He became the monster that the ghose of the Nogitsune wanted him to be.

From time to time, Stiles got himself into trouble, and it became a habit to call Chris Argent for help. The hunter had been close with Stiles’ father when he passed away, and he didn’t have anyone to take care of anymore with Allison dead and Isaac fully integrated into Scott’s pack. So, Stiles, on the rare occasion that he needed someone to bail him out, or help him hide a body, called Chris, and so far, the Argent had never let him down.

Two years ago, somewhere in New York State, he’d gotten just sloppy enough with hiding the evidence of his crimes that he’d needed an actual lawyer, he’d asked Chris to find him one, preferably with knowledge of the supernatural. So, he’d expected some judging middle-aged man who owed Chris a favor. What he had not expected was Jackson Whittemore to walk through the police station dressed in a 3-piece suit, ask the investigators to give him the room, and then pin Stiles with angry blue eyes.

Stiles had just sat back in his chair and cocked an eyebrow, “Y’know, when I asked Chris to get me a lawyer, you were not what I was picturing.”

Jackson’s glare broke and he let out a huff of laughter, “Yeah, well when Chris Argent asked me if I felt like dragging my ass half way across the state to keep a werewolf out of jail, you weren’t exactly what I was picturing either. You look like shit, by the way, how long have you been omega?”

Stiles rolled his eyes, “Six months? Packs are starting to close ranks. I’ve made something of a name for myself.” He looked away, dragging in a breath, “You seem…content. You smell like you have a pack.”

Jackson hesitated, a smirk crossing his lips. “You’re the blue-eyed devil.” It wasn’t a question, so Stiles didn’t bother to answer, just holding Jackson’s gaze as he flashed cobalt eyes. Jackson gave an impressed nod, “I do have a pack. Now tell me what this bastard did to deserve getting his ass kicked, and let me figure out how I’m supposed to get you out of aggravated assault charges, and I’ll see if my Alpha will let you stay for a while.”

So, after Jackson got Stiles out of jail time, He spent three months in the city with Jackson, and it almost seemed like he might stay. They talked about what it was like to be out of control, what it was like to feel like people had forgotten you. They went out to eat and Stiles let Jackson dress him up and cut his hair and one night, they were both drunk on wolfsbane whiskey and they’d kissed until kissing turned into blowjobs that turned into Jackson beneath Stiles with his legs spread and his eyes blissed out as Stiles fucked him.

Then the drunken kisses turned into things they did sober, and the fucking followed. It took about another month for it to feel too comfortable. As soon as Stiles realized he was on the edge of the first good thing to happen in his life in four years, He woke up early one morning, cloaked his scent and his heartbeat, packed his shit and left, as fast as he could manage. Jackson had a life, had a pack, and even Stiles wasn’t cold enough to ruin it for him.

That was just over a year ago. He’d started hunting with more vigor after that, finding his way into packs with members that he knew had stains in their past, and waiting for them to earn his fury. He avoided Jackson’s calls, told Chris not to tell him where he was, and sank into being a monster again.

Turns out that’s what he was best at after all.

\--

Chris planned to take Stiles to an old, abandoned Argent bunker outside of Salt Lake City. He called his backup while Stiles slept on the drive. They made it nearby by midday, stopped at a hotel for showers and a few hours’ nap. After they woke, they stopped for a meal so Stiles could load up on the calories his body clearly needed, and that would be readily burned off through the night, even without being able to run free beneath the moon.

Chris sent a quick text that warned his backup to wait until after he has Stiles secured behind lines of mountain ash to show up. The last thing he needed right now is for Stiles to decide he’s broken some kind of trust. Before, when Stiles was a beta, when he was the monster Chris knew, the monster who had curled into bed with Chris in the middle of the night and cried for his mother, for the pack he knew would reject him, begged Chris for forgiveness for a death that wasn’t his fault, that monster, Chris wouldn’t have doubted for a moment. He didn’t know the alpha that Stiles had become, and while he knew what he’d done for Stiles was the right thing, he wasn’t going to risk his life because it was a full moon.

(A part of Chris relished the idea of death, the idea of escaping the pain of continuing to live in a world where his family had disappeared around him. The other part of him was so firmly fixated on keeping the deathbed promise he’d made to Noah. That part was stronger, was focused on keeping Stiles alive, out of prison. For all the bad that Stiles thought he had done, Chris knew he’d done a world of good too, taking out the trash of the supernatural world, and somehow, while Stiles would never fill the hole in Chris’ heart that had been torn open by an Oni’s sword, Stiles was a band-aid, a patch, and Chris loved him fiercely for it.)

Stiles could tell something was off with Chris, naturally, and the alpha was cagey, quiet, his control clearly strained with the extra power and the pull of the moon. More than once, Chris caught him staring at Chris’ neck, licking a tongue over too-big teeth. His eyes flashed on accident more than once and Chris knew he’d made the right choice on waiting to tell Stiles about the phone calls he’d placed. Chris would consider joining the pack if Stiles asked, but becoming a wolf at his age was a bigger risk than he was willing to take outside of a life-or-death situation. Tonight, Stiles needed pack members he wouldn’t destroy with one wrong move.

\--

As sunset fell, Stiles found himself sitting on a sleeping bag in the basement of the bunker inside a neat box of a mountain ash line that Chris had laid down before heading back out of the room to take a phone call. The room had solid steel doors with multiple locks on the outside, but the door was open, with a line of mountain ash across the doorway to keep Stiles from leaving.

The walls of the basement peek just out of the ground, and a strip of what Stiles assumes is ballistic glass allows for a glimpse of the outside, where the sunset is streaming a thin line of light that falls across Stiles’ chest. He’s already taken off his flannel, folded it and set it aside with his shoes, willing to rip a T-shirt but less willing to destroy perfectly good clothes when he only has so much as it is. He’s borrowed a pair of athletic shorts from Chris, so he’s got those on as well, his jeans discarded with the rest of his clothes.

A scent hit his nose that brought a snarl out of his throat. “Goddamn it Chris!” He threw himself at the mountain ash line, “I told you not to call him.”

Chris stepped into the room first, breaking the line to allow the werewolf through. “You told me you weren’t going to call him, not that I couldn’t.” He stepped out of the way, and Stiles had to suck in a long breath as he met Jackson’s angry blue eyes.

Jackson smelled like he’d gotten off a plane minutes ago, was wearing a pair of black chinos that fit neatly against his legs and a grey T-shirt, a nylon bomber-style black jacket sat across his shoulders. His blue eyes were as icy and unfeeling as they had been in the police station a year and a half ago. He had a duffle slung over one shoulder. Jackson sat his bag on the floor and crossed his arms over his chest, staring at Stiles for a long time. “Break that line too, Chris.”

Chris looked at Stiles, “That okay, kid?”

Stiles rolled his eyes, “Sure, why not. Let’s let the packless alpha out on the full moon in front of a beta he’s already had sex with before. What could go wrong? Not like that could cause me to end up challenged by another alpha for stealing his beta.”

Jackson rolled his eyes, “I already told my Alpha that I was leaving the pack. I told him I was joining yours.” He said, “So, I’m presently an omega. Are you going to bite me or leave me to suffer, Stiles?”

Stiles pressed his lips together and exhaled hard out of his nose, “You’re an asshole.”

“Oh, I’m the asshole. I feed, clothe, house and fuck you for three months, you get up and leave in the middle of the fucking night and go radio silent for a year and a half, become an alpha, and weren’t going to tell me anything about it, but I’m the asshole here.” Jackson nodded at Chris, “Break the line so this dumbass can bite me before the moon is all the way up.”

Chris looked, and smelled, entirely too smug as he stepped forward to kick the line of ash with his boot. Stiles flew past it and slammed Jackson back against the wall of the bunker, eyes red. Jackson’s flashed blue and the beta tilted his head back, lips peeled into a smirk. Stiles stared at the length of flesh, dragging his nose along the soft skin there, pressing a soft kiss against the pulse point. “Are you sure?” Stiles asked, words somehow slipping around too-long fangs.

“I’m sure, Alpha.” Jackson purred, hands locked around Stiles’ hips.

Stiles nodded, but pulled back, eliciting something that anyone who wasn’t as proud as Jackson would call a whine, “Do you really want blood on your clothes, Jax?” Stiles rolled his eyes and pulled at Jackson’s arm, lacing their fingers together and pushing the sleeve of the jacket down until it hit Jackson’s elbow. He brought his wrist up to his mouth, kissing it softly before biting down into the beta’s flesh, Jackson grunting at the pain but not pulling away. Stiles pulled away before the taste of blood in his mouth became overwhelming and licked gently over the wounds. It would be hours before they healed completely now that Stiles was an alpha.

Stiles sighed as the pack bond fell into place, letting his head rest against Jackson’s shoulder. His beta’s shoulder. He could feel his control slipping back into place now that he had a beta, could feel the pull of the moon but didn’t worry that it would overwhelm him, could feel his wolf settle, urging him closer to Jackson. Stiles brought his face up so he could run his cheek against Jackson’s, scenting him. “I hate that you were right.” Stiles said, loud enough so that Chris knew he was talking to him. “But I’m kind of glad you didn’t listen.”

“I hope you continue to feel that way.” Chris said, and Stiles didn’t like something about the tone of his voice so he turned around, only to get hit with a scent of something that was unfamiliar initially, but pinged something in the deep recesses of Stiles’ mind. His mind from before he was a wolf. Stiles swallowed hard as he processed the scent, feeling Jackson tense behind him. Stiles stepped forward enough that Jackson was no longer pressed against the wall, but kept close, hands clenching and unclenching.

At the sight of two painfully familiar wolves walking down the steps to the bunker’s basement, the temporary bliss that had rolled through Stiles from having a beta, from having Jackson with him again was rapidly replaced with anger. “What are they doing here?” He said, red eyes pinning Chris.

Chris glanced at Peter and Derek Hale and sighed, “You need betas, Stiles.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, shaking his head, “Yes, Chris, I’m going to fucking need betas, but I was going to deal with that after the full moon, not on the night of. I have Jackson, you knew I was going to accept him, why the fuck did you call them?”

Peter stepped closer to Stiles, eliciting a growl from the alpha, blue eyes roving over Stiles with something like desire. “Chris called because Derek and I asked him to, if this ever happened.”

Stiles’ face contorted with confusion, and he felt Jackson’s hand on his hip, calming him, giving him something physical to anchor against, letting the fangs slip from his mouth, though his eyes remained bright red. “What?”

Peter rolled his eyes, “Stiles, did you think the tales of the blue-eyed devil didn’t make it to California? Did you think that people who know you, who care about you, wouldn’t recognize the stories of a wolf with a taste for blood, but only the blood of those who deserved to die? A wolf that could do magic, evade hunters, that survived being omega for as long as it took? A wolf with near-impeccable control from the first day he became a wolf? My dear boy, surely, you didn’t think that would escape our notice?”

Stiles swallowed hard, “So you all knew I was a werewolf but never bothered to reach out? Any of you?”

“Scott forbade it.” Derek’s voice was small, “He’s still the same, Stiles. He’s a defensive alpha, not an offensive one. I can count the lives he’s ever taken on one hand. He thinks Beacon Hills is safe because people are afraid of his reputation as a True Alpha, but Beacon Hills is safe because the rest of us fight for it while he hides away doing veterinary medicine and fucking Kira.”

“McCall actually thinks people are afraid of him?” Jackson asked, pressing in close to tuck his chin over Stiles’ shoulder, laughter rumbling against Stiles’ back. “Beacon Hills must only get selective rumors then. No one is afraid of Scott McCall. More people are afraid of the ‘blue-eyed devil’.” Jackson nuzzled behind Stiles’ ear, eyes pinned on the Hale wolves.

Something about how out of place it must look for Stiles Stilinski to have Jackson Whittemore wrapped around him like a boa constrictor made Stiles snort. He reached up with one hand to rest his hand against the back of Jackson’s head for a moment, breathing him in before turning back to the Hales. “So what, you’re here because Scott decided if I become an alpha you have to kill me? Are you here to get an alpha spark, Peter? And you chose the night of a full moon? Sort of stupid.”

“Stiles if they were here to kill you, did you really think I would have let them in the door? I can handle two beta werewolves, even if they are born.” Chris said, sitting on the steps. He’d replaced the mountain ash line, forming an arc that blocked any of them from exiting without his permission.

Stiles sighed, dropping his hand from Jacksons head and crossing his arms, looking back at the Hales, “So, then why are you here?”

“We’re here because we want you to challenge McCall for Beacon Hills.” Peter said, grinning. “It’s your home, Stiles. It’s our home. We’d like to stay there, but personally, I’m sick of McCall using his blue-eyed wolves to do his dirty work so that his precious True Alpha status, and the reputation of any of the betas he’s bitten, remain unblemished.” Peter stepped forward, “I’d rather serve an alpha who I can trust to do what it takes to defend his pack.”

“What makes you think I’d come back to Beacon Hills? I left, remember? What’s left in Beacon Hills for me? Dead parents? A pack that got my dad killed? Memories of being possessed?”

“Us.” Derek said softly, “Malia, Cora, Jordan, Lydia. Maybe Isaac? Some of the pack will always be loyal to Scott, but some of us were just biding our time, waiting for the right alpha.” The beta looked at Stiles with the full weight of his hazel-green gaze, “You’re the alpha I want, Stiles. I know why you left, and if I could go back and take his place, I would.”

Stiles believed him, “You never called.”

Derek’s hand formed a fist and he looked away, face a mask of shame, “I wanted to, I tried to convince him.”

Peter put a hand on Derek’s shoulder, “Derek and Lydia spearheaded the effort to find you, to bring you into the pack. They fought Scott for months after we found out you were turned.”

Derek turned back to Stiles, “If I could, I’d give Noah back to you. I don’t know why Scott didn’t offer him the bite, I don’t know why he didn’t have a partner on the stakeout when Scott had paired Peter and I together, which was unnecessary for a single Omega. I don’t think Scott intended for your dad to die, but he certainly didn’t prevent it. And I’ll never be able to apologize enough for that.”

Stiles closed his eyes, leaning back against the warmth of his beta, emotions he’d spent years ignoring bubbling to the surface, loosening the hold he had on his already tenuous control. “Okay, I can’t…” When Stiles’ eyes reopened, they were burning crimson, “The moon is up, and I can’t do emotions and also maintain my control so…” Stiles turned to Jackson for a long moment, “You’re the only one that’s actually in my pack. You left Beacon Hills before I did. With everything you know now, do you want to go back? Are you ready to face what’s waiting?”

“Not really.” Jackson swallowed hard, blue eyes the most vulnerable Stiles had ever seen them, “But, I’ll do what you want, Stiles. I can take the bar anywhere.” Jackson turned away from Stiles to look at Peter and Derek with fiercely protective eyes.

“Great. I'll make it up to you." Stiles rolled his eyes sarcastically. "Now, for a werewolf I have really good control, but it’s slipping because I’ve been an alpha for just shy of 36 hours and it’s the full fucking moon.” Stiles shook his head, “If you’re serious about being in my pack, then stay, otherwise, get on the other side of that line with Chris.”

Peter had still been staring at Jackson, just over Stiles’ shoulder, but his eyes snapped back to Stiles’, “I don’t want to be Scott McCall’s beta, Stiles.” He stepped forward, holding out his wrist, grinning as Stiles wrapped a hand around it. “Oh how the tables have turned.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, staring down at the flesh of Peter’s wrist. Of the two Hale wolves, Peter was unlikely to be the one that Scott would be mad about Stiles’ biting, but the bite meant something. The Hale wolves were tied to the land of Beacon Hills, their family had founded the town. Bringing Peter into his pack would mean agreeing to go back, would mean agreeing to settle. Stiles drew in a long breath of Peter’s scent, smelled the evergreen and oak of the forest around Beacon Hills, smelled something deep and musky. Stiles shook his head and let his fangs descend, biting down into the flesh of Peter’s wrist as he had with Jackson.

A moment after he dropped Peter’s wrist, the beta had pressed himself against Stiles’ chest, just for a moment, his face pressed into the opposite side of Stiles’ neck from where Jackson’s was still resting, and then he had taken a few steps back, nodding. Stiles had startled briefly at the contact but recognized it for what it was – Peter wanted to be scented by the alpha. The human part of Stiles appreciated the step back, but the wolf wanted Peter as close as Jackson was. Stiles stubbornly ignored the wolf as he turned to the last werewolf in the room.

Stiles stared down Derek. “It’s not your fault my dad died.” Stiles said, his emotions still tugging the edges of his control, but with Peter’s bond, he felt more stable, more in control. “You know who I am, Derek, who I’ve always been. If you’re sure that you want me to be your alpha…” Stiles held out a hand towards him.

Derek hesitated only for a minute, staring at the offered appendage before shrugging out of his leather jacket and setting it on the floor next to Jackson’s bag, rolling up the sleeve of his grey Henley and stepping forward. “I don’t want you to kill Scott. He’s not a bad person he’s just a bad alpha. He doesn’t know any better.”

Stiles nodded, “I’ll do what I can. How he responds to the challenge is on him.”

Derek placed his arm into Stiles’ hand, something like relief fluttering across his eyes before they began to glow bright blue. Stiles brought the wrist to his mouth and drew in a breath, giving Derek one last chance to pull away before he bit down briefly. He gently detached Jackson from his back and stepped forward to pull Derek into a tight hug, smiling against Derek’s temple as the beta tucked his face into Stiles’ neck and breathed.

They separated a moment later, Derek slightly flushed and Stiles feeling better than he had in months. He had a pack, his own, real live pack. He looked at Chris with expectant eyes, “Will you let me out now, are you happy?”

Chris cocked an eyebrow, “Didn’t you tell me to lock you in here?”

“Yeah, before you delivered me three beta werewolves on a silver platter. Pun intended.” Stiles grinned, “Now, let me out, I want to run.” Stiles turned back to look at his pack, “Anyone else game?”

Jackson smirked and stripped out of his jacket, blue eyes bright and face beta-shifted. Peter chuckled softly and followed suit. Stiles watched in awe as Derek shrugged, and with all the confidence of a born wolf and not an ounce of human shame, pulled his shirt over his head and stepped out of his boots and pants before shifting into his large black wolf form. Stiles stepped forward to run a hand through Derek’s scruff, earning himself a pleased rumble.

Stiles wondered what his alpha form would look like if he shifted. Would he be the grotesque wolf-monster that Peter had been, would he be like the Beast had been, or was he, somehow, one of the lucky few with a full wolf form like Talia and Derek Hale? There would be time to figure that out, but as Chris scuffed a break into the line of mountain ash, and his pack ran towards the exit, Stiles stopped only for a moment, studying Chris’ face before he briefly leaned down to rub his cheek against the top of Chris’ head, smiling as the hunter leaned into the touch briefly. There was time for a lot of discussions in the coming days, but if Chris was willing, Stiles wanted nothing more than to bring Chris into his pack.

Nothing, no one would ever replace his dad, but Chris had been there for Stiles every time he’d needed him, and that meant everything.

\--

The morning light found Stiles back in his and Chris’ motel room, Jackson tucked against the front of his body, and Derek pressed against his back. The night prior, Peter had hugged Stiles for a few long moments before turning to take the unused half of Chris’ bed, eliciting nothing more than a grunt and a narrow-eyed glare before the hunter rolled over to fall back asleep. Stiles chose not to read much into it as Derek tugged Stiles down into the other bed and Jackson curled up against him.

Stiles buried a laugh into Jacksons hair as he glanced over to the other bed to see that Chris had tugged Peter against him at some point in the night, and that Peter had let him. Peter Hale sleeping peacefully tucked into Chris Argent’s chest was an image that Stiles wasn’t sure he’d get out of his head for a long time. Derek stirred against Stiles’ back for a moment before rolling over to dig out his phone and power it on. Stiles kissed the top of Jackson’s head and drew in another long breath of the scents in the room. Pack.

He wanted to run. It wasn’t really a surprising conclusion for his brain to draw. If three months of sharing a bed and a life with Jackson had been enough to trigger Stiles’ need to flee, to run, to escape, surely the fact that he was an alpha to a new pack of three beta wolves and a hunter would cause the same feelings, the same desire to get to anywhere but here. But, the wolf disagreed, and a part of Stiles was tired of running. He and Jackson weren’t going to be fixed overnight, and whatever they were only got more complicated when Derek got factored into the equation.

Derek’s phone started screeching as soon as it came alive, and it drew Stiles out of his head. He rolled over to look at Derek, who was holding the phone a foot from his ear, as Lydia’s piercing voice rolled over the receiver, expressing her distinct displeasure at being left out of whatever plan happened the night before, and warning that Scott felt the two bonds break and he was pissed and wanted to know what Alpha stole his betas. Stiles looked at the ceiling for a long moment, and then held out his hand to Derek, motioning at the phone. Derek raised an eyebrow but handed the phone over.

“If you yell, I’m hanging up.” Stiles said evenly, displacing Jackson and sitting up against the headboard. Peter and Chris had woken from the noise and rapidly separated, both looking only a little embarrassed to have woken up wrapped around each other. Jackson let out a low grumble and opened his eyes but rested his head back against Stiles’ thighs.

“ _Stiles?_ ” Lydia was, blessedly, no longer screeching, and instead sounded breathy and incredulous. “What…did the alpha that took Derek and Peter also take you? Are you all okay?”

Stiles ran his free hand through Jackson’s sleep-soft, disheveled hair and looked at Derek for a long moment, “Lydia, I’m the alpha that took Derek and Peter.” He said softly. “Though, took is kind of a strong word for it. They practically threw themselves at me.” He winked at Derek who rolled his eyes and moved towards the bathroom for a shower.

“Stiles….” Lydia paused and Stiles heard the amount of sound picked up by the phone rapidly change, so she’d put it on speaker phone. There were four heartbeats in the room Lydia was in. “Stiles, I put you on speaker, I hope that’s okay. It’s just Jordan, Cora and Malia, and I here.”

“Stiles?” It was Malia’s voice this time, heavy with emotions. “Is it really you?”

“In the uh…voice.” Stiles said with a snort, “Where’s your alpha?”

The line was silent for a moment, “He doesn’t live here, he has his own house. He called to bitch at me and see if I knew where Derek and Peter went. He’s probably going to try to trace Derek’s phone and find a location. Where are you? Who are you with? Is it just the three of you?” Lydia finally answered, confidence returning to her voice as she recovered from the shock.

Stiles glanced around the room and sighed, flipping Derek’s phone down and onto speaker, “Derek’s in the shower. Peter’s here. Chris Argent and…” He looked down at Jackson, who just shrugged, “And Jackson.”

“Jackson?” Lydia said, the breathlessness returning to her voice.

“Good Morning, Lydia” Jackson said, turning his head so the words weren’t muffled into Stiles’ thigh.

Lydia was silent for a minute, and Cora’s voice came over the line next, “Where are you?” The youngest Hale said, “We can try to throw Scott off your trail.”

“Don’t bother.” Stiles said, “Tell him not to bother looking, that Derek and Peter will be home tomorrow sometime.” He thought for a moment, “Lydia, can you convene a panel of Alphas on short notice? Are there three neutral alphas in the area? I can call in two.”

Cora responded, “Jesus Stiles, you’re going to challenge –”

Lydia cut her off, “I can try. I’ll make the calls.” She swallowed, “Are you sure this is what you want? To challenge him? To come back? Stiles… I wanted to –”

“I know.” Stiles said, gripping Jackson’s hair tightly, the beta sinking into the touch without complaint, “Derek and Peter told me. I know. I’ll see you tomorrow, Lyds. Call this line back if you need any more information.” He hung up and sighed, releasing his grip on Jackson and rubbing soothingly at his scalp. “Sorry.” He muttered.

Jackson lazily looked up at Stiles and smirked, “When have I ever complained about you pulling my hair?”

Chris cleared his throat loudly and Stiles turned his head to him with a roll of his eyes, “Stiles, you told Lydia you were going to bring two of your own neutral alphas. Who?”

Stiles moved to get out of the bed, stretching and yawning, “I was gonna have Jax call Harrison, since he left on good terms. And I was gonna call Mabel.” Jackson had stepped out of the room to place a call to his former Alpha while the rest of them talked.

Chris blinked in surprise, “Are you sure that’s a good idea? To bring Mabel to Beacon Hills?”

Stiles grinned darkly, “Oh, I think bringing Mabel to Beacon Hills is a fantastic idea.”

“Who is Mabel?” Peter asked, sitting at the desk in the room, an iPad in his hands.

Stiles sat on the edge of the bed, “The omega that killed my dad wasn’t an omega.” He said, and Peter cocked his head in surprise, “His name was Greg, he was supposed to deliver a message to Scott that releasing dangerous creatures was putting the territory in Reno in danger, and they didn’t appreciate cleaning up Scott’s messes. He did a really bad job of delivering a message, ran into a witch on the way that confounded him and then killed my dad. Mabel came after me after I killed him, and she’s the one who turned me. I submitted rather than continue fighting and told her the full story of what had happened.”

Peter sat back in the chair, and Derek, who had emerged from the shower, slumped hard against the door jamb, “So, even as you ran from Beacon Hills, you cleaned up Scott’s messes one last time.”

“Sort of.” Stiles said with a shrug, “At that point, I was mostly trying to stay alive. I promised Mabel that she could always call on me if something the McCall pack failed to deal with made it her way, and I’d offer whatever support I could to help her defeat it. She really doesn’t like Scott, but she’s a respected alpha of a reasonably sized pack, and I do believe she’ll act neutrally for the sake of a panel.”

Peter nodded, “Lydia will probably call Harold down from Eugene, maybe Yira and Jerome, if they’re not otherwise occupied. They’re both from smaller packs, but we’ve helped them out in the past. The only thing I’m concerned about is that she doesn’t have the pack standing to really call a panel. She could be refused.”

“Isn’t Lydia Scott’s emissary?” Stiles asked, confused.

“She should be.” Derek said, darkly, “But no, Scott doesn’t trust her because she’s never given up on finding you and bringing you home. Mason is Scott’s emissary.”

Stiles considered for a moment and then grabbed for Derek’s phone, redialing Lydia. “Lydia Martin, will you serve as my emissary, to guide and defend my pack?” He said as she picked up.

He heard Lydia’s breath hitch through the line, and then she said softly, “It would be my honor, Alpha Stilinski.”

“That should help with getting a panel together. See you soon.” Stiles grinned as he hung up, feeling a tenuous, thin thread of a bond form, evidence of the strength of their relationship despite time and distance.

“For someone who doesn’t care about Beacon Hills, you’re doing an awful lot of pack building, alpha.” Peter said, his tone light.

“Are you complaining?” Jackson asked, stepping back into the room, his eyes narrowed in Peter’s direction briefly before he turned to Stiles, “Harrison will be in Beacon Hills by noon tomorrow. He wants me to tell you that he’s mad that I left, but if I had to leave for someone, he’s glad it’s you.”

Stiles shrugged, “Thanks for calling him.” Chris tossed Stiles something in his periphery and his hand snapped up to catch it, staring down at the offered phone. “This mine?” He asked, eyebrows drawn together.

“You left it behind in New York.” Jackson said, digging through his own bag, “I sent it to Chris for safe keeping.”

Stiles powered it on, plugging it into Derek’s charger that was still plugged into the wall. He rolled his shoulders and neck, “Chris, Derek, can you find breakfast? Jackson’s got next shower, I’ll go after him.” He looked at Peter, “I don’t suppose you have a copy of the Were Council’s guidelines on Challenges?”

Peter smirked, “I can find one.” He turned back towards the desk and unlocked the iPad, setting to work.

\--  
Before leaving Salt Lake City, Stiles relented to Jackson and Peter’s forceful requests to take him shopping, insisting that if he was going to stand before an Alpha Panel he should at least look mildly put together. It wasn’t the strangest form of pack bonding that Stiles could imagine, but it was up there. By the time the five of them headed out of town, Stiles had four pairs of jeans, three button up shirts, a collection of new T-shirts, two new pairs of shoes and two different blazers. He didn’t intend to wear anything other than the jeans and T-shirts.

Stiles was 100% sure that Scott, who had been a werewolf for nearly a decade but never bothered to actually learn what it meant, would never have though to convene an alpha panel before he challenged Stiles for Derek and Peter – and possibly Jacksons loyalty. He had no right to Jackson, but Scott’s sense of entitlement hadn’t failed him before. The 5-alpha panel would ensure the legitimacy for the winner of the challenge. Without the panel, it was a lot of heresay and the challenge could be contested later.

Stiles had become very good at covering his ass over the years. The council didn’t like him, and that suited him just fine, but after six years on his own, this was bigger than just him. Derek and Peter were tired of fighting for an alpha who, from the way they’d reacted Stiles’ simple offerings of affection with genuine joy, did little for his own pack. Werewolves were tactile creatures, affection from the alpha was a sense of comfort, a grounding force. It was clear that Scott, at the very least, was stingy with his affection. He also apparently used the betas he had to defend his territory, rather than doing it himself, which, in reality, was par for the course with Scott, but it was something Stiles couldn’t imagine doing himself.

Lydia had sent word that Harold, the alpha from Eugene, would be coming down, along with Jerome who lived along the coast at the California-Oregon border. Mabel had agreed to come to Beacon Hills to sit on the panel, and Harrison was on his way. Yira, who lived in the Oregon mountains, hadn’t gotten back to Lydia, and Stiles was nervous. Four was enough for legitimacy, but five was preferred, a tiebreaker in the case of disagreement. Stiles knew of one more alpha in the area, but he was hesitant to call him in. Paul Oleander held the territory that contained San Francisco, and it was no secret that he’d tried numerous times to get Stiles to join his pack over the years – wanting the prestige of ‘settling the blue-eyed devil’. Stiles didn’t like him, but he’d call in the morning if Yira still hadn’t made contact.

They drove through the night, Derek and Peter following Chris, Stiles and Jackson. They stopped briefly in Reno with Mabel’s blessing to get some rest before hitting the line of wards that surrounded Beacon Hills around ten. Unsurprisingly, they made it about a mile inside the city limits before they came face to face with two cars parked to block the road. Scott got out of one of them, flanked by Kira to one side and Liam to the other. Theo, Hayden and Corey hung back by the car. Stiles climbed out of the passenger seat of Chris’ truck, staring down Scott with neutral golden-brown eyes.

At Stiles’ appearance, Lydia climbed out of the other car, walking past Scott to throw her arms around Stiles’ neck. Scott growled and stepped forward, but Jackson, Peter and Derek formed an imposing line between Scott and their alpha. Lydia’s eyes were full of tears as she tucked her face into Stiles’ neck, and he held her weight easily, arms wrapped around her middle. “Alpha.” She whispered against his ear. His chest rumbled and the bond between them firmed immediately. Stiles kissed her temple and set her down, watching her hug Jackson out of the corner of his eye as he moved to step past his betas to stare down Scott.

“Did she just call you alpha?” Scott asked, seething. “Are you the alpha that stole two of my enforcers? And Lydia now too?”

Stiles let out a hollow laugh, “Stole is a bit of a stretch, Scotty. They came to me. Lydia wasn’t your emissary, so technically, I didn’t steal anything.”

Scott flashed his eyes and growled, “Who did you kill to get your spark, Stilinski? Someone look at you wrong? I’ve heard you’re quite the monster these days.”

“I killed a whole pack, actually.” Stiles said, scathingly, flashing red eyes back at Scott, “I came back from a few days away to find them keeping the unwilling company of a 15-year-old boy.” Stiles growled at the anger of the memory, “I lost it, a little bit.”

Scott glared, “What did you do with the teenager? Did you eat him?”

Stiles snarled, “What kind of fucking monster do you think I am?”

Chris stepped forward, touching Stiles on the shoulder only briefly, “He healed the boy, took the memories of the trauma, and took him home.”

Kira raised an eyebrow, the kitsune cocking her head to the side “Healed him?”

Stiles crossed his arms over his chest, “Yeah, I can still do magic when I have to.”

“So, what are you doing here, Stiles?” Scott asked, apparently done discussing the circumstances. “Here to steal the rest of my pack?”

“Not exactly.” Stiles said, his phone buzzing in his pocket. He pulled it out and glanced down, “Lydia, Yira got in contact with Harold. She’s going to make it after all.” He glanced back at her with a grin before turning back to Scott. “Lydia is my emissary now. So yes, I’m here for her. I’m here for anyone who wants to leave your pack. And I’m here to challenge you for Beacon Hills.”

Scott’s betas gasped and Scott’s face morphed into a mask of anger, “Challenge me? You came here to kill me? That’s low even for you.”

Stiles’ laugh is loud and he stares up at the clear blue sky for a long moment, “I actually didn’t have any intentions of fighting you, Scott. I’ve called in a Panel of Alphas, five neutral alphas, to oversee a renegotiation of the claim on this territory. We’ll both present our cases, allow betas to speak on our behalf, and the panel will decide who deserves to hold the territory.”

Scott sputtered, “And what if I disagree with them?”

Stiles looked over his shoulder at Derek, who nodded, eyes sad, “Then you can declare a challenge of strength, and then I might have to kill you.”

Kira whimpered, “Stiles…you wouldn’t.”

“Sure he would.” Scott said, rolling his eyes, “He’s not who he used to be, Kira.” He wrapped his arm around the kitsune’s shoulders and headed back towards the car, “Let me know where to be, Stilinski.”

“Scott.” The alpha stopped at the sound of Lydia’s voice, “Jordan, Malia and Cora have sworn loyalty to me, as Stiles’ emissary, prior to the issuing of the challenge. As such, they’ll stand as Stiles’ pack before the panel.”

Scott turned around with a snarl and red eyes and roared, but Stiles just stood between him and his Pack, eyes bored, arms crossed over his chest, “You left, Stiles. And now you’re coming back to ruin everything.” He turned back around and let Liam and Kira tug him into the car, driving away quickly.

Stiles turned to Lydia, “Before the issuing of the challenge?” Stiles cocked an eyebrow.

Lydia winked, “Peter isn’t the only one with access to the Were Council’s guidelines. The packs stand as they were prior to a challenge being issued. If we waited for you to get here and bite them, it would have been too late. A formal declaration of loyalty to an emissary isn’t as strong as a pack bond, but it’s enough.”

Stiles grinned, “Thanks, Lyds.” He pulled her back into another hug, burying his face into her hair for a few long breaths. “Where is the Panel going to convene?” He asked.

Instead of responding, Lydia looked at Derek and Peter and grinned.

\--

Chris followed Derek and Lydia in the direction of where the ruins of the old Hale house had been, but kept driving past where Stiles was sure the old house had been situated, a location burned into his memories, and continued further down the road until the trees opened up again to reveal an exceptionally large, traditional style house painted in soft greys, with a large, L-shaped porch dotted with benches and plants. Derek and Lydia each pulled into a space in the large garage that sat beside the house, and Chris parked in a gravel patch near the garage.

Stiles climbed out of the truck with wide eyes, “You rebuilt?” He called, Derek’s grin bright as he walked towards them from the garage. Stiles had been so focused on Derek’s impossibly wide grin, and the fact that there was a house on Hale land again, that he reacted incredibly late to the blur of motion that launched at him. He landed in the gravel, and his eyes bled red for a moment, a snarl started and stopped in the same breath as the figure came into focus and her scent flooded him. He gripped Malia tightly, kissing the top of her head, managing to somehow bring himself back to his feet with a Malia-shaped Barnacle wrapped around him. She buried her face in his neck, and he could feel the wetness from her spilled tears. “Hey, Mal.” He murmured softly, easing her legs from around his hips, forcing space between them. “You okay?”

Malia reached up to wipe tears from her eyes, her smile bright, “I am now.” She said, “I can’t believe you’re a werewolf, an alpha.” She blinked, “How do I become your pack? If Dad’s your pack I want to be.”

Stiles’ eyebrows raised, wondering when Peter Hale had become ‘dad’ but didn’t think now was the time to question it. “I have to bite you.”

Malia shrugged, “Okay. Let’s do it.”

Stiles sighed, running a hand from her shoulder down to her wrist and bringing the appendage up to his mouth, unhesitatingly adding Malia to his pack, his wolf purring as the pack grew. Stiles dragged her back in for another hug, scenting her, before turning to the two additional figures that exited the Hale house. Jordan Parrish was dressed more casually than Stiles had ever seen him, wearing a pair of athletic pants and a fitted tanktop. He’d wrapped one arm around Lydia’s shoulders and kissed the top of her head, Lydia sinking in against him. She looked content, and that was all Stiles needed to know about the arrangement.

Cora Hale hadn’t left the porch yet, leaning against the railing and watching the packs interactions with a keen eye. Stiles had always respected the youngest Hale, who had somehow survived and escaped as a child. He didn’t judge her for her wariness, it was probably what had kept her alive. He turned towards her, “The decision is yours Cora.” He said softly, knowing she’d hear him, “If you want me to be your alpha, I will be. I won’t force you.”

Cora stepped down from the porch, her arms crossed over her chest as she made her way towards the gathering, “Is it true you’re the one who killed Fabio Briolo?” She asked, her lip curling in disgust, “New Mexico, three years ago.”

Stiles thought for a minute. “The Jimenz Pack’s enforcer. Yeah, that was me. Was he a friend?”

“Anything but.” She let out a long breath, “He wasn’t a good person.”

Stiles nodded, “Did he…?” He swallowed hard. He knew what Briolo was known for, taking, and drugging young betas with wolfsbane to make them compliant, keeping them for a weekend and then returning them traumatized and terrified. Too many went omega and feral after, unwilling to be touched again even by family.

Cora shook her head, “Not me, but others that I knew.” She unfolded her arms and held one wrist out to Stiles. “Thank you for stopping him, Alpha.”

Stiles gave her a small, tight smile, bringing her wrist to his lips and biting down. He released her wrist and gently tugged her into a hug that she seemed happy to reciprocate, nuzzling against the top of her head briefly. He released her and turned to Jordan, who just nodded and held out the arm that wasn’t wrapped around Lydia. Stiles studied the offered wrist and looked up at him, “You’re not going to turn, if I bite you right? What happened when Scott bit you?”

“Scott didn’t bite me.” Jordan said, face serious, “But if I can literally walk through fire, I don’t really think that a werewolf bite is going to change me.”

Stiles shrugged, “If you say so.” He bit down, leaving his teeth in only long enough to feel the bond form before pulling them out, grimacing, “You taste like burnt meat.” He said, “No offense.”

Jordan just chuckled and shrugged. Stiles stepped up to run a hand down Jordan’s back and grip at the back of his neck for a minute before stepping away, looking at the pack that had formed a haphazard circle around him. “So, we’re doing this.” Stiles said softly, his eyes settling on Jackson, who gave the smallest lift of his shoulders and a small smile that Stiles knew was only for him, and it kind of made his heart ache. “Are the alpha’s are coming here?” He turned to Lydia.

Lydia stepped out from under Jordan’s arm and nodded, “This is the address I gave the three I spoke with. If you give me the contact information for your two, I can make arrangements for them as well. We have enough rooms for them to stay if this takes overnight.”

“One’s flying in from New York, so he’ll need to stay either way.” Jackson said, “My former Alpha.”

“We didn’t know how many rooms you would need.” Cora said, “We basically made up all the rest of the unused rooms in the house, but that’s only seven unoccupied rooms. If all the”  
Alphas stay.”

“Chris can have his own room.” Stiles said, “Jax can stay with me for tonight.” He ignored Lydia’s little ‘oh’ and Jackson’s mocking ‘for tonight’ and moved back towards the truck to pull out his bag and the garment bag Peter and Jackson had insisted on, following Cora into the house, staring at the gorgeous, dark wood interior, the almost-black hardwood floors. She leaned up to brush her cheek against his once more as she opened the door to a room that really only smelled of her and Malia, holding a king-sized bed, a dresser with a mirror and a door that lead to an ensuite bathroom.

Stiles squeezed her shoulder and stepped into the room, stopping for a minute to look at his reflection. He was clean shaven, and reasonably well-dressed courtesy of Jackson and Peter, but his hair was still long, curling down around his ears. He’d need a haircut soon. He flashed his eyes at the mirror, still not used to the burning red where the ice blue had once been. He heard Jackson enter the room, still fixated on his own reflection, waiting for the face of the beta to appear next to his own in the mirror. “Did I make the right choice?” Stiles asked, locking eyes with Jackson’s reflection.

Jackson turned to look at the real Stiles, “Don’t you think you probably should have asked that before you took four of McCall’s betas, his banshee and his hellhound, and challenged him for his territory?”

Stiles sighed, “Yeah, probably.” He moved to the edge of the bed, sitting with his elbows resting on his knees and his head in his hands, “It’s been a fucking nightmare of a few days.” Stiles rubbed at his own temples, assuaging a headache he didn’t even realize werewolves could get, “I kill my entire goddamn pack like fucking Deucalion, have to call Chris, Chris calls you, suddenly the Hales are back in my life, and, and _Lydia_. And now I have to convince a panel of alphas I deserve to be the alpha of Beacon Hills.”

Jackson dropped onto the bed next to Stiles, rubbing circles into the Alpha’s back, “Nobody expects you to be perfect. I didn’t leave my life in New York to join your pack because I wanted the perfect alpha. Fuck, ten years ago, I’d have kicked my own ass for even thinking about packing up with you.” Jackson wrapped his arm around Stiles’ shoulders and tugged the alpha in close, “You’ve been alone a long time, and I know that all of this terrifies you. I know why you ran. But, you’re a good man, Stiles. You may not have the cleanest conscience, and you’re morally grey at best, but you’re ruthless and fair and capable of fighting your own battles. You’re going to be a good alpha.”

Stiles snorted and shoved his shoulder into Jackson’s side, knocking the beta away before reaching for him and drawing him in for a tight hug, “I should have said goodbye.” He said softly, “I’m sorry.”

“You absolutely should have.” Jackson said against Stiles’ chest, “But we have a lot of time to talk about what should and shouldn’t have happened. And to talk about the fact that Derek Hale keeps looking at you like you’re the goddamn moon.”

Stiles groaned and flopped back against the bed, “Don’t remind me.”

“Just, for the record, I’m very pro-sharing and anti-‘cutting the baby in half’.” Jackson said with a smirk, “After everything you’ve done for the supernatural community, you deserve whatever makes you happy, Stiles. Whether or not that includes me.”

Stiles met Jackson’s eyes and leaned in to press a brief, chaste kiss to the beta’s lips, “I’m going to nap, can you help Lydia get organized. Mabel’s number is in my phone.”

Jackson gave Stiles another one of those small, genuine smiles, brushing their noses together, “Of course, Alpha.”

\--

Stiles woke from a nightmare two hours later. Chris sat on the edge of the bed and stroked a hand through Stiles’ hair until the alpha fell back asleep. Derek hovered in the doorway watching, the one that had actually alerted the pack to the sounds coming from Stiles’ room. Chris stared down at his face with a pained expression. When Stiles was asleep, the hunter couldn’t help but see how damn young he really was. Not a single death Stiles had ever caused hadn’t been justified. His decision to leave Beacon Hills six years ago had been sound and logical, his anger towards the pack warranted.

And in return, his best friend, his brother, had condemned him for taking the lives he had. Scott had never bothered to hear Chris recount the kinds of crimes the people Stiles killed had committed. As soon as Stiles became a wolf, Scott became irate at the very mention of his name. Chris suspected that Scott’s wolf, which had never been in particularly good harmony with the man, was crying out for it’s newfound brother. The wolf knew Stiles as a brother, it trusted Stiles, but the human parts of Scott no longer could.

And being back in Beacon Hills was going to dredge up memories for Stiles that had remained buried under years of Stiles pretending not to have emotions, years of falling into the façade of being a cold-blooded killer. The act had started to fade when Stiles was in New York with Jackson, Chris had seen hints of the young man he’d met so many years ago, who had fought so hard to save his friends, had fought to save Chris’ own daughter. With the right motivation, it was possible that the Stiles they all knew and loved could return, but a part of Chris wondered of Derek and Peter, Lydia and Jordan, Cora and Malia would be able to look at the person Stiles had become and love him in the same way he did, in the way he knew Jackson was beginning to.

\--

Stiles was alone when he woke fully, the clock on the nightstand reading 3pm. Stiles rolled over to stare at the ceiling, the ceiling smooth in a way only new construction could be. He breathee in the scents on the bed. He could smell Chris, and Jackson, Derek faintly, and Stiles’ wolf felt calm, relaxed, happier than he’d ever been. Stiles let his eyes glow red, let himself bask in the quiet contentedness of the wolf that was now half of who he was. More than half, most days. Somehow, in the span of three achingly long days, his life had gone from running around the country as a vigilante, hoping to take out as many shitty people as he could before he inevitably died, to being a fucking Alpha with four werewolves, a werecoyote, a hunter, a banshee and a hellhound in his pack. And he’d challenged Scott fucking McCall for the right to the territory of Beacon Hills.

Challenges for territory were rare. Much of the country was home to werewolf packs that had settled long before the first white settlers had appeared and had married new blood in when they arrived. The territory of Beacon Hills was only open to the challenge because of the tragedy that had killed the Hale Pack. If Derek or Peter, or even Cora, were still the alpha, they would have a blood claim to the land. Instead, two alphas, both younger than thirty, were going to argue for claim to land that should rightfully belong to neither of them. Stiles didn’t want it, and that was probably part of why the remaining Hales wanted him to claim it. From what Stiles had seen, Scott’s scent wasn’t anywhere in this house. It was coated in the others, in the wolves that made up his pack, but Stiles wondered, to himself, if Scott even knew that this house was here, buried in the preserve, ready for a new alpha, a new pack to take ownership.

Stiles’ pack was formidable, despite how new they were. The bonds forged were stronger than they should have been, speaking to a level of trust and familiarity that extended beyond werewolf status or physical closeness. Chris was as close to a father as Stiles would ever allow himself to have again. Not a replacement, never, but a comfort. He was still strong, capable, and knowledgeable. Peter, as was apparently genetic with the Hales, was unfairly attractive even as he neared forty, full of sharp wit, useful knowledge and just enough darkness that Stiles’ wolf felt a kinship with the animal inside Peter. They were two sides of the same coin, pushed to the brink of madness by the loss of everything they loved.

Cora Hale was an enigma. Beautiful and strong, the human side of her so independent and wary of those around her, but her wolf was an affectionate, joyful, childish thing. The wolf had kept her safe, kept her sane, even as she watched her family burn. Even still, she knew how to fight, how to defend, and how to love fiercely and protectively. She was the first to forgive Peter, and Stiles knew it was that forgiveness that had paved the way for Derek to finally accept that Peter hadn’t been in control of his actions that night, and to believe his uncle when Peter said he’d do anything to go back and change it. The elder Hales loved her to the end of the earth and back, and it showed.

Malia was warm, brash, full of life and energy. She called Peter ‘Dad’ and she hadn’t hesitated for a moment to join the pack. She hadn’t asked Stiles where he’d gone, why he’d left. She spent nine years as a coyote, hiding from the world, trying to erase memories that would never go away. In a lot of ways, Malia understood what Stiles had been doing for the last six years better than any of the others ever could. Jordan had known Stiles for a fraction of the time that the others had, but Stiles didn’t have to wonder where the deputy’s faith in him had come from. Jordan may not have known Stiles very well, but he knew, trusted, maybe even loved a different Stilinski, and trusted Stiles as an extension of that bond.

Stiles and Lydia were fated to be a part of each other’s lives. Stiles had seen through Lydia’s act, had known who she really was, had loved the real version of her longer than Lydia had even loved that part of herself. In turn, Lydia had pulled Stiles back from a world where he had literally been erased, forgotten. When even his father had forgotten, she remembered. She had survived their worst days at Stiles’ side. The romantic desires for her had burned away long ago, but the parts of him that loved Lydia, a bone deep, unending, unconditional love, were so deeply imbedded in him that his wolf knew Lydia before he had ever smelled her, had bonded to her from miles away.

The fact that Derek looked at him like hung the moon was a teenage fantasy come to life and Stiles had no idea what to do with the information. It wasn’t some stranger, some wolf he’d just met, who might be swayed by the emotions that come with bonding to a new alpha. It was Derek, who had done his very best to defend Beacon Hills and the pack against everything, including himself. Derek, who had stood by Scott through Scott’s darkest days. Derek, who had loved his sister enough to give up an alpha spark, who had fought his worst nightmare over and over again. Derek, who, after six years apart seemed to genuinely mourn the loss of Stiles’ father as deeply as he did the loss of his own family. Derek, who seemed to genuinely have missed Stiles, who had fought his Alpha for the chance to find him.

But also, there was Jackson. Jackson, who Stiles had hated for the majority of his young life, for a variety of good and bad reasons. Jackson had mellowed, only slightly, over the years, and was no longer allergic to anything resembling emotions or actual affection. This new Jackson had brought Stiles home when he was at his most broken and started to piece him back together. And he’d done a damn good job, so much so that Stiles had run from him, too afraid of what it would be like to feel something other than anger and grief.

But here he was. Laying on a comfortable-ass bed inside a house that felt, in some selfish way, like it had been built and waiting for his arrival. With a pack that came together with a few well-placed phone calls, with a group of people who cared about him, who probably fucking loved him, and Stiles was terrified. He was challenging an alpha who, while not the best alpha, had still held the territory for the last decade unchallenged, when he’d been an alpha a matter of days. Stiles trusted the Hales, trusted that Scott wasn’t being the alpha that this land needed, could even feel how weak the wards were, how quiet the forest was as they drove through.

Stiles had been running for six years. The human part of him wanted to get up and run again, get as far away from this pack, from the people who loved him, from the responsibility of being an alpha with an actual territory to defend. But he couldn’t. His wolf refused. His wolf was staunchly in favor of settling down.

Stiles turned when he heard the door open and stared as Malia entered the room, closing the door behind her and kneeling to crawl across the bed, tucking herself into his chest wordlessly. Stiles let himself, almost robotically, on instinct, curl onto his side and wrap her into his arms, burying his face into her hair and letting her scent seep into him.

“Are you going to run again?” She asked, after a few long moments, her hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt. “Your heartrate was going crazy, you didn’t turn on the soundproofing. Your heart sounded scared, Stiles.”

Stiles let the phrase ‘turn on the soundproofing’ fall into the category of ‘ask about later’ and focused on her other question. He sighed, “I want to.” He admitted, “But I don’t think I can anymore. My wolf is so fucking content, Mal. When I was a beta, my wolf was always ready to run, to go to the next pack, to do the next job, like he was searching for the right pack for us.” The human part of Stiles had always known where ‘the right pack’ was, and that he’d never be accepted there, “As an alpha, the search is different. Right as I became an alpha, I was so lost in the anger and the bloodlust that I would have killed anyone I saw if I hadn’t had a fragile, traumatized human to take care of. And then Chris was there and he wasn’t pack, not yet, not really, but he was enough. And then it was sort of out of my control, almost. Chris became Chris and Jackson, and then Derek and Peter and now all of you and as bad as I want to run I don’t think that my wolf is going to let me.”

“Good.” Malia said softly, nuzzling against his neck, “Good. You’ve been running for too long, Stiles. I missed you. It’s time to be home.”

Stiles kissed the top of her head, “I missed you too, Malia.” He murmured, rolling away, stretching, “When are the alpha’s and the McCall pack going to be here.”

“Five.” Malia said, “Jackson and Lydia are really scary when they work together.”

Stile snorted, sitting up, “Yeah, they are. Always have been.” He unpacked the bag quickly, pulling on a clean black T-shirt and one of his newer pair of shoes. He glanced in the mirror, frowning.

“Wait.” Malia grinned broadly and jumped off the bed, running from the room, returning a few minutes later, holding out a rumpled flannel that was saturated in Malia’s scent, but, once unfolded, Stiles recognized as his own.

Stiles pulled it on and rolled up the sleeves to his elbows, “Have you really kept this for six years?”

Malia shrugged, “It smelled like you.”

Stiles sniffed it, drawing a long breath, catching something beneath the overwhelming scent of Malia, with hints of Lydia and Peter, a scent he barely recognized. It was probably what his scent was before it was constantly saturated with fear and anger and grief. “You can have it back after I get some new ones.” He said with a small smile. “Thanks.”

\--

The back yard of the Hale house had been transformed while Stiles slept into a fitting place for the gathering they were going to have. Five chairs had been set in a neat line, facing the house. A collection of folded chairs rested against the house, ready to be picked up as needed depending on how many people ended up at the house.

Mabel was the first to arrive, the sixty-year old grandma-type woman walking fearlessly past the betas to wrap Stiles into a tight hug. Stiles’ wolf grumbled slightly at the contact from the other alpha, but there was no dominance in the gesture, just genuine good will and familiarity. “If you wanted to come home, I would have challenged McCall for you years ago, you know.” She said, holding him at arms-length.

“You’re here to be neutral, Mabel.” Stiles said, smiling, “And I’ve never needed you to fight my battles for me.”

“No, you haven’t.” She murmured, smiling back at him, and wandering to take one of the five Panel seats, the two betas and emissary that had accompanied her taking some of the other chairs, each greeting Stiles briefly, and respectfully.

Harold, a large black man in his forties, his Second, and his Emissary arrived shortly after Mabel and her crew. Stiles’ betas offered a respectful deference to the alpha and Harold greeted Mabel as he took the seat beside her. Yira and Jerome, each with only a single beta accompanying them, appeared together, both aged somewhere between Harold and Mabel. They both regarded Stiles with a kind of hesitation that Stiles knew resulted from the reputation he was known for. It was a hard-earned title, really. He’d had to kill a lot of people to earn it.

Jackson jumps up from where he’d been seated next to Lydia when the last neutral Alpha finally joins them, stopping next to Stiles as Harrison stepped through the back door. Harrison looked like he belonged somewhere between New York Fashion Week and Wall Street, in a clean well-pressed shirt and a pair of probably designer pants. His soft brown hair was curly and soft, spilling over his forehead. His wife, who sang on broadway, was perched on his arm, and she stepped away to wrap Jackson into a hug. Stiles gave the New York alpha a nod, “Thank you for coming.” He said, clearing his throat.

“You take care of him.” Harrison said, nodding towards Jackson, “He gave up a lot to be here. He always has a place in my pack, but if he comes back under any duress, I’m coming for your throat.”

Stiles believed every word, and nodded, “I’ll do my best.”

Harrison and his wife moved to take the last seat at the Alpha panel, and Stiles braced himself when he heard the rumble of a pair of engines coming up the drive.

Stiles had moved towards the Alpha Panel when the McCall wolves filtered into the back yard. He stiffens and turns, braced for impact before he watched Harrison move to effortlessly intercept Scott as he had launched himself at Stiles. Harrison knocked the alpha back, crouching in front of Stiles. “Down, Boy.” He said, his voice firm. “That’s not the way these things are done.”

“You called in someone else to fight your battles for you, Stiles? I thought you were the big bad wolf. You invited five alphas into my territory without my permission? As what? Backup?” Scott said, still in a fighting stance, but flanked by Theo and Liam, both of whom have a hand on their alpha’s shoulders, tugging him back.

Stiles snorted, “They’re not here to fight my battle for me. They’re here to decide who wins.”

Scott scoffed, “Well seeing as he just interrupted the fight, I think I know who he favors.”

Harrison gave Scott a hard look, “Listen, McCall, I’ve heard of you. You’re Beacon Hills’ True Alpha, which gives you a reputation. I thought the rep was that you were an honorable wolf, who, while not very traditional, valued doing things the right way. The right way is for you to discuss why you deserve to hold this territory, for Stiles to get his chance, and for the five of us to decide.”

Theo stepped away from Scott, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes bored, “What made you do it, Stiles? Did you just wake up one morning and decide, ‘I’m going to murder someone, become an alpha, and then I’m going to take Scott’s territory, two of his best enforcers, his best tracker and three others, all in one day?’”

Stiles stared at the sky and blinked a few times, the wolf snapping. His wolf knows Theo. Knows the damage the Chimera had done to Stiles’ life. Knows the pain, the hurt that Stiles went through at his hands. Stiles’ wolf would like to rip Theo’s heart out of his chest so he can feel an ounce of the pain Stiles felt as his world, his pack, had crumbled around him all those years ago. He knows his control is slipping, his fangs too big for his mouth, his claws pricking the meaty part of his palms.

A chorus of growls began and a warm hand on his neck knocked him back to reality. Stiles doesn’t have to look to know the only wolf brave enough to touch him right now. The only wolf that knew that Stiles’ wolf, who was so painfully close to the surface, would recognize the touch, the scent, the heartbeat, and not immediately attack. Stiles let himself lean back into Jackson’s touch, let the warmth of his hand ground him. After another breath, Stiles brought his gaze back to Theo’s, let his eyes flash red, and snarled, his lips twisting into a smirk as the Chimera instinctually flinched back, chin flying up in submission before he could stop it.

“I don’t think you have any room to talk about stealing someone’s pack.” Jackson’s voice is even, clear, despite the anger Stiles can smell rolling off him in waves, “From what I’ve heard of you, you’re lucky to be out of a skinwalker dirt nap, and if you don’t keep your mouth shut, I won’t reign him back in again.” Jackson smirked, “And if you think an audience is going to stop him from ripping your throat out, you haven’t been paying attention.”

“Shall we begin?” Mabel asked, sitting up, her eyes burning red as she glared at Scott. The other neutral alphas murmur their agreement, and Harrison returned to his seat, taking the center seat on the panel.

“My understanding is that we’ve been convened here today to assess a territory challenge by Alpha Stiles Stilinski, for the territory of Beacon Hills, currently held by Alpha Scott McCall.” Harrison sat back, “Alphas, please introduce your packs and any relevant credentials.” He paused for a moment, “Beginning with Alpha Stilinski.”

Stiles suspected that Harrison had started with him – the opposite of protocol-- because Scott didn’t know traditional werewolf protocol for shit. “My pack is currently composed of three trueborn werewolves, Peter, Derek and Cora Hale, a trueborn werecoyote, Malia Tate, a bitten werewolf-kanima hybrid, Jackson Whittemore, a banshee, my emissary, Lydia Martin, a hellhound, Jordan Parrish, and a human, Christopher Argent.” Several of the wolves on the panel gasped at the name, Stiles ignored them, “I’m twenty-four, I’ve been a werewolf for five years, I previously had blue eyes, I’ve never turned anyone, and I’ve been an alpha for approximately three days.” Stiles drew in a long breath, “Mabel Schieve turned me, and my alpha spark was taken by force from Gage Thomas, an alpha from Utah, who I found in the act of raping a fifteen-year-old human boy.”

Scott glared at Stiles momentarily before turning to the panel of alphas, “My pack has two trueborn werewolves, Brett and Lori Talbot, four bitten wolves, Isaac Lahey, Liam Dunbar, Hayden Romero, and Nolan Greer, a thunder kitsune, my mate, Kira Yukimura, an invisibility shifter, Corey Bryant, a werewolf-werecoyote chimera, Theo Raeken, and two humans, Mason Hewitt, my emissary, and Melissa McCall, my mother.” Stiles had just realized that Melissa was here, and he turned to her with a small, sad smile. She returned it, clearly more aware than her son was of what was at stake today. “I’m also twenty-four, I’ve been a werewolf for nine years, an alpha for eight, and I had gold eyes before. I’ve turned three people, three of my own betas. Peter Hale turned me, and I’m a true alpha, so my alpha spark is mine.”

The alphas discussed quietly, all well aware of the range of hearing of most of the people assembled before them. Harrison looked forward, “Alpha McCall, please describe the territory you now hold, and give us a brief picture of what kind of duties are required to hold the territory.”

Scott pulled his eyebrows together for a moment and looked at Kira, who just gave him a small, bright smile, He turned back to the panel, “The Beacon Hills territory includes Beacon Hills and the surrounding Beacon County. It also includes the Beacon Hills Animal Preserve, which contains a Nemeton. To hold the territory, our emissary maintains wards around the perimeter of the territory that alert us when someone or something crosses our boundaries. Then I usually send my tracker and my enforcers to seek out whatever it is and take care of it.”

“Alpha McCall.” Stiles had to bite back a grin when Mabel spoke, “As the alpha of a neighboring territory, I’ve got some firsthand experience with your definition of ‘take care of it’, so could you please elaborate on that point for the other alphas?”

Scott puffed out his chest, “I encourage my betas not to kill unless it’s absolutely necessary. We believe that everyone deserves a second chance.”

“Everyone except me.” Stiles muttered darkly, eyes fixed at a point above the heads of the five alphas.

“You got a second chance.” Scott scoffed as he turned to Stiles, “What’s your kill count now, Stiles?” He asked, lips set in a firm line, “Do you even know it? How many people – wolves, hunters, magic users – you’ve killed since you became a wolf??”

Stiles turned from the alphas and met Scott’s gaze head on. “Including the five from this week or excluding?” Scott just stared, “Thirty-eight before. Forty-three now. Twenty-one betas, nineteen hunters, two emissaries, and an alpha. Do you want me to include the nogitsune’s kills? It gets a bit messy then. What about Donovan? Should I add one murderous Chimera to my kill count too?”

“Alphas.” The voice is Harold this time, and both Stiles and Scott turn to face the panel, “Alpha Stilinski, can you please explain your reasoning behind the kills you’ve recounted?”

Stiles shrugged, “Scott said that he sent off his enforcers to clean up his territory. I spent the last five years as something of a self-employed enforcer. I took out threats to packs, sometimes before they even knew they were threats. Gage Thomas and his pack were serial child rapists. I took out Fabio Briolo, who was known for drugging and torturing young beta werewolves.” Stiles swallowed, “One of my first kills was a druidic emissary who decided that I was a threat to the balance.”

Scott exploded, “It was you.” He turned, claws out, eyes burning red with anger, “You’re the one who killed Deaton. Fuck that was five years ago I didn’t even think it could be you.”

Stiles stayed impassive, staring Scott down, “He attacked me.” He said, “I defended myself. I’m not sorry that he’s dead, but I am sorry that I left you without an emissary.”

“Alpha McCall, restrain yourself.” Harrison said, folding one leg over the other, “Alpha Stilinski, you should describe the situation behind your blue eyes.”

Stiles nodded, “I was possessed by a nogitsune seven years ago, for a period of a few weeks. I caused the death of twenty-seven people, several of whom I knew personally, two of whom were pack.” Stiles steeled himself, “Allison Argent and Aiden Trudeau.” He pointedly did not look back at Chris, “Following that, I was stalked and attacked by a teenage chimera under the control of the Dread Doctors prior to their elimination. I killed him in self-defense. I’ve never knowingly and intentionally taken an innocent life since becoming a werewolf, but, Mabel can confirm that I’ve had blue eyes since the night of my turning, until three days ago.”

“Alpha Stilinski, I’m sure you’re aware of your reputation as the ‘blue-eyed devil’ and those stories differ dramatically depending on who tells them, but they all speak of an insatiable lust for blood and death.” The small, dark haired Yira sat forward as she spoke, “This territory seems to have been held in a peaceful manner, for the better part of the last decade. Why should we hand this territory over to a wolf with a reputation for bloodlust, when there is already an alpha in place to defend it?”

“If I may, Alphas.” Stiles was surprised to hear Chris’ voice from behind him, hearing the crunching of the grass as he walked to stand near Stiles, “My name is Christopher Argent, as you’ve probably deduced by now. I’ve been in regular contact with Alpha Stilinski for four and a half of the last five years. I’ve personally reviewed the situations where he was the aggressor and assessed them as I would any other werewolf who stepped out of line. I have never found Alpha Stilinski outside of the code. I’m not my father or sister or wife, I stand by the code that my daughter instilled in me, and never has Stiles taken the life of someone who wasn’t hunting others.”

Stiles noted that while his voice had faltered over the words ‘my daughter’, his heartbeat had been steady and true as he spoke, telling the truth, facing down the five alphas with a kind of calm that only a lifetime of hunting monsters could give him. Stiles reached out to touch his shoulder, giving him a small, grateful smile.

“I’d also like to speak, if I may, Alphas.” Chris stepped back to allow Derek to take the place at Stiles’ shoulder.

“You’re Derek Hale, no?” Yira asked, cocking her head to the side, “Are the rumours true, Beta Hale, that you gave up your alpha spark to heal your sister.”

Derek swallowed and nodded, and Cora smirked and waved from where she sat on the grass with Malia, Lydia and Jordan.

“It’s an honorable sacrifice. You’re already pack bonded to Alpha Stilinski, despite how short his tenure as an Alpha has been. When did that occur?”

“The night after he became an alpha.” Derek said evenly, shoulders back, chin proud, “My uncle and I have been in contact with Chris Argent, and asked to be informed if Stiles ever became an alpha.”

“And why is that, Beta Hale?”

“Because what neither Alpha has told you is that without Alpha Stilinski, Beacon Hills would have fallen a long time ago. When Peter bit Scott all those years ago, he was mostly feral, and had been left alone in a coma for six years while my elder Sister, the alpha, and I left. It’s not something I’m proud of, but it’s something we’ve all worked through. Peter killed Laura and became the alpha, and bit Scott. We didn’t know it was him at the time, it was Stiles that figured it out, figured out that Scott was a werewolf, and helped him learn to control himself, as a human. Without Alpha Stilinski, Alpha McCall would have lost his hold on Beacon Hills when they were still in high school.”

“Why did you leave Beacon Hills in the first place, Alpha Stilinski.” The only alpha who hadn’t yet spoken, Jerome, asked, and Stiles was suddenly grateful for Derek’s presence. Stiles gripped Derek’s forearm with a clawed hand, but the beta didn’t flinch.

“My mother died when I was ten. I left for college, with the understanding that my father, the late Sheriff Noah Stilinski, would be under the packs protection.” Stiles turned to Scott, “A confounded, near-feral werewolf entered the territory, and Alpha McCall included my human father in the hunting party, failed to assign him a supernatural partner, and in the end, my father was killed by this werewolf. I left because I couldn’t be here anymore. I broke from the pack, and became a werewolf shortly thereafter.”

“And what brought you back?” Jerome still, his eyes focused, his tone even.

Stiles released Derek’s arm, “Pack.”

“Until several days ago, most of your pack were members of Alpha McCall’s pack, were they not?” Yira asked.

Stiles nodded, “Jackson was a member of Harrison’s pack, though he left favorably to join mine. Chris wasn’t in anyone’s pack. The rest were members of the McCall pack.”

“So, you’ve returned to Beacon Hills, taken nearly half of the pack away from Alpha McCall, and now you’re aiming to take the territory from him? I’ve yet to hear you actually voice that you want it, what can you do for this territory that Alpha McCall cannot?”

Stiles hesitated for only a moment, and grinned, “Alpha McCall holds the territory, but gives nothing to the land.” Stiles knelt, digging his hands into the dirt, closing his eyes, trusting Derek and the rest of his pack to protect him for the moments this would take. The scent of magic – like ozone and rust and a crisp, cool wind – spread through the back yard and Stiles pulled back his wolf, restrained it as best he could, sinking his magic into the land, feeding the trees and the plants and the Nemeton. The forest rustled with appreciation, flowers blooming to life on trees nearest to the back yard.

After a moment, Stiles pulled back, freed his hands from the dirt and climbed back to his feet, nodding, “The land around Beacon Hills is ancient, magical land. The Nemeton is older than any life in these lands, the town formed around it. The Hales have been the defenders of this land, of the town, for as long as records can find. To be perfectly blunt, Alphas, I don’t want this territory. I don’t want the town. I don’t want to possess it, I want to defend it, to protect it, to cherish it as it should be. Beacon Hills is my home, I’ve fought here, I’ve died here, I’ve killed here, and I’d do it all again.” Stiles turned to Scott, “I don’t think Alpha McCall can say the same.”

“I was a surrogate sacrifice too, and you can’t use the fact that you can do magic or whatever, that’s not fair. You’re a murderer. You’ve killed so many people and you want Beacon Hills so that you can have your own killing field.” Scott turned to Derek, “I never made you kill, he’d make you.”

“No, he wouldn’t.” Derek said, “Because he’s not afraid to do it himself.” Derek turned to the alphas, “Three years ago, myself, my uncle, my cousin and Theo Raeken, decided that letting dangerous creatures continue to roam elsewhere wasn’t the right decision. I’ve personally killed ten of them, to defend Alpha McCall’s territory.”

Peter nodded, moving to stand with Derek, “I’ve dispatched twelve.”

Malia stood up and took her place between her father and cousin, “I’ve killed seven.”

Scott stared at the three betas, stunned. He turned to Theo, who was sinking away from the alpha, “Is that true?” He asked, breathlessly.

Theo stopped, glaring at the Hales and Malia, “You weren’t supposed to know, Scott. It was for the good of the territory. You didn’t need to know we killed them, just that the territory was safe.”

“How many, Theo?” Scott asked, eyes flashing, “How many people have you killed ‘in my name’?”

Theo looked at the ground for a moment, “Nine.” He said, his heartbeat steady, eyes burning gold for a moment before they slipped to the icy, cold blue, “It really shouldn’t surprise you, Scott. I’ve never really been a good guy.”

“Beta Raeken, please explain your sudden change in eye color.” Harrison said, standing now, confused.

“Theo isn’t a true werewolf.” Stiles said, “He’s a lab-created chimera. He was probably able to repress the color change magically, or some other way, to appease Scott’s need for purity in his wolves. I guess over the years, Alpha McCall forgot the number of people Theo brought down in the name of the Dread Doctors.”

“His eyes were gold!” Scott said, “How was I supposed to know he’d killed innocents.”

“Scott, he tried to get Liam to kill you.” Mason said, rolling his eyes, “You can’t be this blind.”

“Alright, enough.” Mabel roared, everyone turning to her, “I think the panel has enough information to make a decision. Before we do, there’s a last, important piece of information we need from each of the alphas. Yira will speak directly, privately, with Alpha McCall, and I’ll speak with Alpha Stilinski. We’ll then take our leave to deliberate and return with a verdict, which can, of course, then be challenged by Alpha McCall, should he disagree.”

Stiles watched as Yira led Scott away from his pack, and he stepped closer with Mabel, just inside the tree line, “I know what you’re going to ask.” He said softly.

“I’d expect nothing less from a wolf I sired, who actually learned the old ways and respects them as he should.” Mabel smiled, “What would you expect Alpha McCall’s pack to do if you are given the primary claim to this territory?”

“Mostly, stay out of my way. I don’t care if they stay in town, it’s their home too, but Scott has to submit to me, as the primary alpha. I’m going to ward the town myself, and any territory disputes or alliance negotiations will go through me. He’s welcome to stay and his pack is welcome as well, but they have to understand that I’m going to do things differently than Scott did.”

Mabel nodded, her smile tight, “What do you think his answer is going to be?”

Stiles laughed, “Oh, he’s going to want me gone.”

\--

An hour later found Stiles on his back with his head pillowed in Lydia’s lap, his pack, excluding Chris and Peter, circled lazily around him, almost all of them in contact with him in some way. It was starting to get dark, and they’d turned on the floodlights, leaving the back yard still reasonably well lit. In stark contrast, the McCall wolves had pulled up chairs and were sitting in clumps of two or three. Melissa was standing somewhere in the middle with Chris and Peter, the three chatting about the town in quiet voices.

Everyone seemed to hold their breath as the five alphas appeared again from the edge of the woods. “Alphas.” Harold spoke, standing, flanked by the other four alphas. “We’ve made a decision.”

Stiles rolled up to his feet, Derek growling playfully as Stiles used his shoulder to push himself up. Scott stood up and walked over from where he’d been sitting, arguing for most of the hour with Theo and Kira. Neither looked at each other, both focused soley on the Panel standing before them.

“After much discussion, this Panel has found that Alpha Stilinski should be awarded guardianship of this territory—”

“What the fuck?” Scott snarled, eyes red, face beta-shifted, eyes on Stiles.

“Alpha McCall, these sorts of outbursts are exactly what swayed us in the direction of Alpha Stilinski.” Harold continued, “That and your apparent lack of knowledge about how one maintains a territory, and the fact that you send enforcers to handle threats to your territory instead of handling them yourself. Additionally, in the nearly ten years you’ve held this territory, you’ve never done so without either Alpha Stilinski, or one of the Hales to guide your hand.”

Yira stepped forward, “Alpha McCall, I was in favor of you retaining your territory, until it became clear that you were unwilling, or unable, to defend your territory yourself. It’s inexcusable for an alpha to stand by and allow threats to continue.”

“Alpha Stilinski has agreed to allow you to remain in Beacon Hills for the forseeable future.” Mabel said, “So long as you agree that he is the final word on how things happen around here, and you submit to him as the First Alpha of the Beacon Hills territory.”

“And what if I disagree.” Scott spat, still shifted, angry eyes on Stiles.

“If you choose to disregard the Panel’s decision, then you can challenge Alpha Stilinski to a Challenge of Strength. If you can best him, by death or otherwise, then you can oust him from your territory.” Jerome spoke quietly, “Once the fight begins, no one can interfere. It’s between you and Alpha Stilinski. And if Alpha Stilinski wins, he’s within his rights to take your life in addition to your territory.”

Somewhere behind them, Stiles heard Melissa choke out a sob, and heard Chris whispering something unintelligible into her ear. “Don’t do this, Scott. Just accept the decision.” Stiles said, “It’s one act of submission, and then you go back to living your life and never have to worry about making these kinds of decisions again. Just accept it and stay out of my way.”

Scott was seething, and glanced back at his pack, turning back to Stiles, “I refuse to accept the panel’s decision and challenge Alpha Stilinski to a Challenge of Strength. If you want my territory so badly, Stiles, you can take it from me.”

All of the wolves in the yard moved away from the two alphas. Stiles hung his head and shook it, glancing over his shoulder at Derek for a long moment. He couldn’t kill Scott, not in front of Melissa, in front of Kira. Stiles unbuttoned the flannel and handed it to Malia, who had tears in her eyes as she balled it up under her nose. Stiles leaned down to kiss Jackson, not caring who was around or who saw or what they thought. Jackson grabbed the back of his neck and gripped it tightly, his blue eyes full of anger, but not at Stiles. “Don’t you dare die on me.” Jackson whispered. Stiles just leaned in to kiss him again.

Stiles turned back to Scott, eyes flashing briefly red, “Alpha McCall, I accept your challenge.”

Scott’s response was instantaneous, but his attack was predictable, and Stiles, arms at his sides, face perfectly human, sidestepped the lunge. Scott’s next blow hit his mark, and Stiles heard his jaw and nose crack, but they were knitting back together before the pain really registered. Scott wasn’t fighting like a wolf, he was fighting like a human, with fists and anger and body weight. The wolf in Stiles wanted to laugh at the pitiful, weak excuse for an alpha, but Stiles reigned it in. He knew what he was capable of, knew that if he started fighting, Scott wouldn’t be able to stop him. He had to resist.

Stiles had to actively fight his wolf for control once the claws came out, bloodlust singing in his veins, and Scott’s next few blows slashed through Stiles’ T-shirt, laying open his chest with wounds that leak blood down his front but rapidly clot. Stiles’ hands remained at his side, his eyes carefully human, whiskey and gold glinting under the setting sun. Scott’s fury only grew and he threw his entire body at Stiles, knocking him to the ground, landing with a thump. Keeping his hands at his sides, Stiles laid there beneath Scott, eyes defiant, face passive.

Scott raised his arm, claws aimed for Stiles’ throat and finally, he hesitated. It had only been five minutes, tops. Scott was straddling Stiles, who was laying, not fighting back, not putting up a defense, just taking the blows the other alpha gave, not even wolfing out. The five neutral alphas are impressed at the amount of control it took to be so passive in the face of an active enemy, especially for a wolf of Stiles’ reputation, but none of them knew Scott McCall like Stiles did.

So, when Scott’s hand froze in midair, and his eyes bled from furious red into dark brown, Stiles’ lips twitch up into a smirk, “Are you going to do it, Scott? Gonna bring those true alpha claws down and take me out? Take back the pack members who willingly left you? Force them to bow to an alpha they don’t want? You can have them all back, all you have to do is slash out my throat. Maybe use your teeth. Poke holes with your other hand in my heart, makes it harder to heal from. A claw to the brainstem might be nice, it’ll help me go quickly, painlessly.” Stiles still hadn’t moved, and Scott’s hand was still frozen in midair.

“Just yield, Stiles.” Scott said, face drawn together, pain coloring his features more than the rage he’d been feeling up to this moment, “Yield, and I’ll let you come home, and maybe the rest of the pack can stay with you, just yield.”

Stiles shook his head, “No, Scott. Either you kill me, and you win this challenge, or you yield, and submit to me as the First Alpha of Beacon Hills. You don’t have to leave. Your mom can keep her job, your pack can stay close to their families. No one has to die tonight, Scott, it’s your call.”

Scott’s chest heaved and he looked up, eyes meeting his mothers, who was openly sobbing, both hands pressed over her mouth. She didn’t smell like sadness, she smelled like relief. She’d probably heard from Chris how dangerous Stiles was, and had assumed the worst despite knowing Stiles better than that. She had probably figured out what Stiles was doing far sooner than Scott did.

Scott looked up at Lydia, who was leaning back against Jordan, tears openly streaming from her eyes, but her lips tilted upward. She’s a harbinger of death, and she looked sad, heartbroken, but she was calm.

Scott finally turned to look at the five neutral alphas, his head hanging low in shame after they return his gaze with passive glances. Scott looked back at Stiles and shook his head, “You really had to take everything from me, Stiles? Half of my pack? My territory?”

“You never wanted this, Scott.” Stiles said, still prone beneath Scott, “I’m fighting this fight, or well, not fighting this fight, so that you can be free of a burden you never wanted. You don’t. want to kill, don’t want to fight, and I’m giving you a chance not to. I know you don’t approve, I know that in your eyes, I’m always going to be a killer, but for fucks sake, Scott, someone had to be willing to, and it certainly wasn’t going to be you.”

Scott just stared down at Stiles for a few tense breaths. “I yield.” He said softly, rolling off of Stiles, and then pushing himself to his feet. He turned towards the five alphas, “I yield the challenge to Alpha Stilinski.” He held out a hand for Stiles, pulling him to his feet. Stiles nodded with a small, tight smile on his lips, and Scott tilts his head back minutely, bearing his throat to Stiles, accepting his position as subordinate to the other alpha.

There isn’t an audience to clap when it’s all over, just two exhausted, wrung out, blood-and-dirt stained alphas staring at each other under the rising moon, five others discussing with their companions about staying or going, and two packs breathing easier knowing that neither would have to deal with the pain of a lost alpha tonight.

The McCall pack, along with Yira, Jerome and Harold, all took their leave, but not before Melissa McCall pulled Stiles into a tight hug, and made him promise to come over for dinner sometime soon if he’s going to be back in town. She had leaned in close and whispered, “Thank you, Stiles. Noah would be so, so proud of the man you’ve become.” And had politely held Stiles close until he could bite back the tears.

When they were gone, Stiles took one glance at his pack, Harrison and Mabel, turned, and ran, as fast as he could, into the preserve, using magic to obscure his scent. Somewhere, deep in the woods, Stiles released the wolf, felt himself morph down, somewhat surprised to suddenly look at the world on four paws instead of two, glancing down at one huge chestnut brown paw. He ran further, faster, quieter, but no longer able to tap into the magic to obscure his trail.

It isn’t long after that before a large black wolf joins him, and a brown and grey coyote as well. Neither move to intercept him, simply falling into step behind him as he ran, familiarizing himself with the territory that was now his. It took almost an hour before he was tired, loping back in the vague direction of the house, the black wolf pressing in close to one of his flanks, the coyote against the other.

Jackson leaned against a tree, and turned towards the trio as they returned, a grin spreading across his face, “You would get a full shift, you asshole.” Stiles huffed and pressed himself against his hips, his nose pressing into Jackson’s chest. “Chris, Lydia and Peter are getting dinner made, you should go take a shower, since I’m sure human-you is still bloody, and also probably naked.”

Stiles gave something that vaguely resembled a nod and then ran towards the house.

\--

When Stiles made his way down from his shower, Mabel, Harrison, and his wife Anna are sitting in the living room, sipping from wine glasses and chatting. Mabel looks up at him with a wide smile, “There’s my prodigal son.” She said, holding up her glass.

Stiles tried for a smile but it didn’t quite reach his eyes, still overwhelmed from the day. He sat on the couch beside Mabel, leaning back against it, his wolf content that none of the alphas in his den were a threat. “I wouldn’t put it past you to have planned this all along.” He said dryly, “Turning me so that one day I’d end up back here to clean up messes so they stopped getting funneled to Reno.”

“Ah, even I’m not that good, Stiles.” Mabel patted his thigh, “What you did today was admirable, little Alpha. I don’t know many wolves that could take a beating the way you did and not respond to it.”

Stiles sighed, “Scott McCall isn’t a killer.” He said, “It’s one of his best and worst traits.”

“McCall is lucky that you held back.” Harrison said, leaning forward.

Mabel looked at Harrison, “I heard you sheltered him too, what did you think of the ‘blue-eyed devil’? Wasn’t he wonderful?”

Harrison glanced at Mabel for a moment before turning to Stiles, “He was certainly efficient. Dangerous. But, then, I saw a different side of him too. Funny, sarcastic, loyal.”

“I’ll take responsibility for that.” Jackson said, appearing in the doorway, “Dinner is ready, if you’re all hungry.”

Stiles grabs for a chair in the middle of the excessively long table, but Jackson rolls his eyes and points to the seat at the head of the table, whispering, “Alpha.” Into his ear. Stiles takes the seat, with Jackson to his left and Derek to his right, the rest of the pack, and their visitors filling the seats. The dinner conversation is light, discussing the complexities of densely packed territories like New York City, the freedom of open spaces like in Reno.

Stiles was uncharacteristically quiet through dinner, commenting when he was asked to, but largely focusing on trying to push around the food on his plate until it disappeared. Jackson didn’t think much of it, focused on the discussion at hand, but Derek was looking increasingly concerned as the meal progressed. He nudged Stiles’ knee to get the Alpha’s attention, but Stiles just gave him another half-hearted smile and took a small bite of his food.

After the meal, the visiting Alphas and their entourages retreated to their room, leaving Stiles and his pack in the living room. Somewhere upstairs, a lowgrade buzzing began that Stiles deduced must be the soundproofing that Malia had mentioned. Once it did, Stiles sank into the –really phenomenally soft – couch with a groan, closing his eyes. “Today has been the longest day of my entire life.”

As if fate was just fucking with Stiles at this point, there was a grumble of an engine outside, and Stiles was immediately on alert, sitting up with an annoyed growl, even as the pack remained mostly calm. Derek moved to the door, opening it, Chris’ hand resting behind his back where Stiles was sure a gun was holstered.

Stiles was silent for a moment when he saw the figure standing at the door, “What are you doing here? You can’t be here to issue a challenge or fucking try to scare me off, we literally just established that the territory is mine—”

Isaac Lahey wasn’t much taller than Stiles had remembered him, but he looked older, more mature, but he looked nervous, “I’m not here for Scott.” He said softly. “I can’t stay in Scott’s pack and pretend to be okay anymore. Not when literally everyone I could let my guard down around left me there.” His voice had a razors edge to it, and his eyes flicked to Derek and Lydia.

“You sided with Scott when we discussed finding Stiles.” Lydia said. “We had no reason to believe you’d be interested in leaving your precious True Alpha’s pack.”

Isaac swallowed, “I wasn’t, not until today.” Isaac’s gaze moved to Chris, “But if he can forgive Stiles for what happened to Allison, then I have no reason not to.”

Chris relaxed his hand, his face going slightly sad, “Isaac, it wasn’t his fault. It’s the nogitsune’s fault, and no one elses.”

Stiles let out a short breath through his nose, “Chris can absolve me all he wants, but it doesn’t change the fact that she’s dead.” He muttered, “Did you tell Scott you were leaving? I’m not dealing with another challenge in the morning because you had a change of heart.”

“I told him.” Isaac said, “I didn’t know that breaking a pack bond could be made to hurt.” Isaac unconsciously rubbed at his chest over his heart.

Stiles snorted, “Y’know it doesn’t surprise me that for all the things Scott doesn’t know how to do, he knows how to violently sever a bond. Give me your wrist.”  
Isaac pushed up the sleeve of his jacket and extended his arm, “Thank you, Stiles.” He said softly.

Stiles just gave him a hard look and brought the wrist to his mouth, biting down briefly and then releasing it. He stepped up, one hand on the back of Isaac’s neck for a brief squeeze, and the other carding through his curls because he fucking could, okay? When he was content that Isaac smelled enough like him, he turned on his heel and headed for the stairs, “I’m going to bed. If anyone else shows up asking to join the pack, the answer is no until I’ve had twelve goddamn consecutive hours of sleep. Chris, you’re in charge.”

Stiles was in the bathroom when the door to his room opened, and he didn’t bother walking out in more than just his boxer briefs, stopping short when he looked up to see Derek standing awkwardly just inside the door. “You’re uh….not who I was expecting.”

Derek tucked an arm behind his neck awkwardly, “Jackson said I should come up here, to make sure there’s nothing you needed.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, “Jackson sent you up here as a gift.” He chuckled and walked over to the bed, dropping down onto the edge of it, “6 years ago, when I left for college, we were friends, right?”

Derek nodded, taking a seat on the corner furthest from Stiles, “I thought so.”

“So when did that change?” Stiles said, tracing the stitching on the comforter, “Because according to Jackson – who isn’t my partner, for the record, it’s complicated – you look at me like ‘I hung the moon’ and I only trust his opinion because picking up on things people think they’re hiding is sort of his job.”

Derek was silent for a long time before he finally looked up at Stiles, “I would have left with you.” He said softly, “After Noah died. I wanted to go with you to take out the Omega, I wouldn’t have stopped you, I would have helped and then I would have left with you.” He took a long breath, “If you ask Cora, I’ve been an idiot, and I’ve clearly always had a thing for you. If you ask Lydia, it started after you guys rescued me from Mexico.”

“And if I ask you?” Stiles said, turning towards the beta, “When did you realize it?”

“When my wolf wanted me to go against my alphas orders and try and find you.” Derek said, “You needed us, you needed someone and we just left you alone and I’m never going to forgive myself for that. I’m so sorry, Stiles.”

Stiles sighed and held out a hand, tugging the older man towards him, tucking Derek’s face in his neck and running his hands across his back. “I hope that none of you have to see me like that again.” He whispered, “The bloodlust started with the nogitsune. My ability to resist it died with my dad.” He pressed his lips against Derek’s temple, and then pulled back, “Jackson is important to me.”

Derek nodded, “And he was actually there for you, I understand if we can only be friends, Stiles, just—”

Stiles pressed a finger over Derek’s lips, “I’m not picking anyone right now. I’m going to sleep. I assume –” Stiles looked up when the door cracked open, and Jackson walked in with a wink and a smirk – “Okay, I know that Jackson is going to sleep here. If you want to sleep here, like we did the other night, be my guest. I’m not making decisions, I’m not picking people, I’m not doing anything without getting some goddamn sleep first.”

Derek nodded, looking up at Jackson, “Is it okay with you?”

Jackson shrugged, “If I minded, I wouldn’t have given you a head start.” He turned and headed into the bathroom.

A few minutes later – most of which Stiles spent half-conscious already curled into bed – after Derek had headed to his room to swap clothes for something more sleep-appropriate, he and Jackson had curled in on Stiles much like they had in the hotel room on the morning after the full moon, less than three days and also a lifetime ago.

As Stiles curled around Jackson, felt Derek’s warm, heavy presence at his back, he let his eyes drift close, counted the breath of the two men in his bed and fell asleep.

For the first time in years, he slept without nightmares.

And when he woke, surrounded by Derek and Jackson’s comforting scents, feeling the small, subconscious pull to the beings in the rooms surrounding his, listening to the birds in the preserve chirp their morning greetings, for the first time since that phone call six years ago, Stiles felt like maybe, it was okay to be done running. There were so many questions – how to coexist with Scott? What warding needed done? What jobs would he and Chris and Jackson have now that they were back in town for good? How was Stiles going to handle enemies when they showed up in his territory? What was he going to do about the _two_ men he wanted sharing his bed at night?

Stiles shut down the constant questions by nuzzling closer to Jackson, breathing him in deep, his free arm moving back to grasp at Derek’s hip and squeeze, anchoring himself to the scent and the feel of pack.

There would be time for questions and answers. They would answer them all, as a pack.

**Author's Note:**

> In January I posted the end of a story I started in 2013, and now here I am with 10k of Stiles angst porn, a 6k story involving stiles selling his soul to the devil, 96k of a Sterek/Hale Pack AU, 12+K of resulting kidfic, and now this, 20k of alpha werewolf Stiles. 
> 
> Somebody shut my brain off please.
> 
> UPDATE: 4/10/20
> 
> I made this a series because I'm now actively working on a follow up to it. It's a series of smaller plots that I either 1) wanted to include in ackom or 2) have thought of since writing it. Y'all have been really positive about this fic so, I'll write more! <3
> 
> I'll occasionally post teasers/updates at my Tumblr - those-who-fall.tumblr.com


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